Timeless Guardian
by Dome of Bones
Summary: Cast out into the miasma of the Immaterium, a lone member of the Ten Thousand, crazed by tortures of the wretched beings within, never imagined he would evermore play a role in the protection of the very Imperium he had sacrificed himself to save.
1. The Brink

Check the bottom of the chapter for notes.

* * *

Three years.

It had been three years since the Crimson King had shattered humanity's future as united race. Three years since their beloved leader had been condemned to a purgatorial existence, holding back the tide of the Chaos spawn seeking to overtake the Golden Palace. Three years since the Ten Thousand had been thrown as martyrs to the meat grinder of the gods.

The Legio Custodes. Greatest among the Emperor's creations, sans only the Primarchs themselves. Each warrior a perfect embodiment of war, a unique work of martial art never to be replicated. Yet in these dark days, all that that was worth was being incredibly short in terms of numbers and difficult to replace.

The War within the Webway had taken it's toll even on mankind's greatest. Even with all their weapons, perhaps the deadliest within Imperial space, and the help of another, nigh-equally elite organization handpicked by the Emperor himself, the Sisters of Silence, they were barely enough to hold back the horde of horrors swarming like so many locusts from the Warp. Even the Loyal Mechanicus, contributing a significant portion of forces into the Web, had not proved capable of such a task.

The glorious host of the Emperor's personal entourage had been reduced to a mere half of their eponymous Ten Thousand. And their numbers declined still. At this point, it seemed as if death by war of attrition was to be their ultimate fate.

Their liege was far too concentrated on keeping the daemon infestation from assaulting the very beating heart of the Imperium, while the Sigillite along with the Praetorian were consumed with keeping the order of a galactic empire torn in twain by the traitorous actions of the legions of Chaos.

Reinforcements were not coming any time soon. All of the Custodes were grimly aware. Yet they were not designed to fall to the follies of lesser men, such as fear or anguish. They would fight on, to the last man if need be. Until the last drop of Custodian blood was spilled, they would hold the line.

* * *

Guardsman Kronos of the 41st Shield Company felt more uneasy than usual.

Of course, their minds were never supposed to be at ease in this wretched place, as at any point a daemon could pop it's ugly head, usually closely followed by tens, hundreds or even thousands of their equally despicable brethren. However, this particular section of the Webway was one among the hardest hit by the Red Cyclops' psychic assault. It was so unstable that even the wretched Warp spawn usually left it alone in fear of it's eventual total dimensional collapse.

This had earned his Shield-Company, the one most commonly assigned to the region, the affectionate nickname of "Death Seekers". The irony of such a name for a Company that rarely did more than provide auxiliary support to the others nowadays was not lost on them.

In spite of it's relative ease to maintain however, Kronos despised being stationed here. Perhaps it was the whispers of the Warp, leaking their way through the shattered mishmash of dimensional walls that were barely holding. The presence of Chaos drove them, like their gene-sire, to wretch instinctively. Perhaps it was the geometry of the place itself, a nearly ungraspable hive of tunnels, seemingly ever shifting in texture, that could easily be miscalculated even by the superhuman mind of the Custodes, rendering them lost forever.

And most of all, perhaps it was the knowledge that it could very well fold in of itself at any moment and damn whatever soul unlucky enough to find himself there at that instant to an eternity of hellfire. The sheer fact that the daemons themselves considered the place so unstable so as to never properly assault it certainly did not help matters of morale.

Thankfully enough, Kronos found himself distracted from his contemplation by a beeping coming from his vox-caster.

"Kronos, report." Shield-Captain Phobos. His voice was raspy, perhaps even ragged. No visual of him projected into his helm either.

_Another daemon assault assistance action, most likely._

"Webway secure. No incursions within the last 37 hours. Continuing to monitor," he paused. "Phobos, what is the situation down there?"

A pause similarly followed from the other end. "It's best if we do not speak of that at this moment. We are still recovering and have not the time."

"Phobos, why not have me recalled down there? I have not had an engagement in weeks. The auxiliary forces you provide are already operating at maximum strain, while I am fresh with rest and in optimal condition."

"Which is precisely why you must remain where you are, Kronos. If any sudden daemon infestations were to spring up in, we would have at least one Guardsman in full condition to contain it long enough for reinforcements to be dispatched."

"Can you even afford reinforcements should they be needed?" Kronos knew he was most likely treading a line, but it had been far too long since he had spoken up of his own doubts. "You are already being torn asunder, as much as you might not want to admit it. Why can we not just abandon this particular section and fall back? Then at the very least I could ass-"

"We do NOT lose any more ground!" there were few times when the commanding presence of Phobos gave way to anger, however slight, and Kronos feared those moments, as much as a Custodian could fear anything. "Far too many of us already have fallen to even maintain what little we have. The Tribunes will not accept further surrendering to the enemy forces, and neither will I. That includes the section you consider so worthless, no matter how supposedly safe it may be."

Tension was thick in the air as Kronos was not quite sure on whether to retort or not, but Phobos ultimately broke it by releasing a sigh, obviously no longer angered.

"I appreciate your spirit Kronos. But right now the best possible way you can help us by staying exactly where you are," a momentary pause as he collected himself to an official voice again. "Continue to monitor and report back in 30 minutes, should nothing happen. Phobos out."

The vox-caster made a clicking sound as it tuned out, leaving Kronos with naught but his own doubts and frustrations as company.

* * *

The fear was never in the bang, but in the anticipation of it. And while Kronos could not exactly be accused of harboring such an emotion, he had never quite appreciated the ancient Terran saying more than now. The Webway was entirely silent, even the quiet turbulence of it's breach seemingly having died down. It had gotten so silent he could practically hear his own heartbeat. It was moments like these that he found the greatest strain, even greater than the few times he found himself in battle; left alone in his own thoughts about the future.

No Custodian wanted to admit it, but all of them had thought about it. Their numbers were dwindling, with at least one of the Legion being taken each day. The had neither the resources nor the time to recuperate the losses to anything approaching an even balance, and so they continued their decline.

_What more can we even do at this point? Our days are numbered, while the Arch-heretic and all his traitorous forces make haste to Terra, to an Emperor unable to protect._

Thankfully, Kronos found himself taken back to the world of the factual once more by the sound of several heavy thuds that were getting increasingly louder. Something was approaching. Holding up his Guardian Spear, Kronos moved from the position he had to have been keeping for at least several hours at this point, had his internal clock not malfunctioned. Stiff muscles jumped to full capacity in matter of moments, and the golden warrior directed his mighty weapon towards the source of the noise, ready to blast whatever was coming back to deepest pits of whatever hell it had crawled out of it.

However, he immediately lowered it and nearly smacked himself in the face when he realized that those thuds were footsteps and said footsteps were entirely familiar to him. His muscles relaxed, his combat stance devolved into his usual posture, and the thrum of his mighty Spear died down.

A shadow was finally seen along the darkened tunnels of the Webway, a massive shade showing off an impressively large figure that could be made out to be armed to the teeth. Eventually the shadow rested just above Kronos' head, and it's owner made it's presence truly known at last by jumping off the elevated tunnel entrance and right before Kronos himself. The sheer mass of the impactor seemed to make the entire room vibrate, even though such a thing should have been impossible.

With their heavy losses, and the need for more warriors on the battlefield that could provide support, it was understandable that the Legio Custodes had deployed an unusually large amount of Dreadnoughts. With the many fallen in battle, and all of the Legion trained to serve the Emperor's will until their true, final breath, the number of potential inductees was one of the few things they were not running short on.

However, previous Shield-Captain Damocles Cain had not been one of those recently interned. He had been serving the Emperor dutifully even beyond the limits of his true physical body for several centuries now, since the time of the Wars of Unification on Terra.

Among the Legions, the old war machine was also one of the only few Kronos considered a friend. The Legio Custodes were designed to be bodyguards, best among all of humanity certainly, but ultimately not an army like the Legio Astartes. They were all individual warriors unmatched, and although they were capable of working in teams, it was only in the most basic of military senses.

A sense of companionship or brotherhood was never cultivated in them like the Space Marines. Their existence was supposed to be one of silent camaraderie of the most basic type. So it was incredibly difficult to find among the other Custodians actual friendly relationships.

_And I of all things end up with the half-dead walking sarcophagus with guns __attached. _He allowed himself the tiniest of smiles underneath his armor.

As usual, the Achillus Dreadnought's walking betrayed nothing of his current mood. Neither did his "face" nor any other part of his being. It was as if trying to grasp the emotional state of a man inside of a tank with legs. Even for the observational skills of another Custodes, it was still practically impossible.

_I suppose I'm contemplating over nothing. _Kronos mused. _As per usual._

"Damocles, I see you have returned. Find anything of note during your journey?"

It took a moment for the massive war machine to respond, no doubt Damocles reconfiguring his Vox-caster. "Negative. Not even a single breach of Chaos spawn of any kind from section 4567B to 3456A," he lowered his Dreadspear. "In short, incredibly underwhelming. How does guard duty go here?"

"Much of the same fortunately. Or unfortunately, in my own personal case. I do not understand why we are still not allowed to assist with the fighting when our forces are being cut down every day. The premise of reserve personnel is lost to me in light of all that has happened."

The Dreadnought pivoted his spear in a circular motion, a telltale sign that he was thinking. "I'm sure they have their reasons for it."

Kronos stared slightly incredulously at the towering Contemptor "You used to be a Shield-Captain. I struggle to grasp that you would be so accepting of such of a policy without some reasoning behind it."

The Dreadspear was pointed at the ground now, slightly denting the floor with it's mono-molecular blade. "Hmm, I suppose I may simply be going senile. I sure feel as if my mental faculties are not what they used to be. Must be all the embalming fluid."

"You are only 300 years or so my senior. That does not make sense."

"Perhaps. But much of logic in general has stopped having an effect recently in case you have not noticed, courtesy of this place being essentially a more stable version of the Warp."

They stood silent for a time.

"How are you so calm?" Kronos was the first to break said silence.

The Dreadnought looked at him with closest thing it could give to an inquiring stare. "Care to elaborate?"

"In the face of our immediate extinction, you've never once doubted the words of our commanders, despite the fact that you have the full authority to rebut them and that they have led countless more to death than necessary."

The Spear was now carving small indentations into the floor. Whether the markings had any meaning behind dribble to pass the time Kronos cared not to know. "I **had **the authority mind you. I teach and advise now. Not lead. And our superiors clearly consult with the Emperor himself. Doubting them is paramount to doubting him. Would you doubt him, Kronos?"

Kronos didn't reply to that. He hadn't thought as much of such an implication, even though it had certainly crossed his mind. He had considered himself simply a reasonable skeptic.

"Besides," the Dreadnought pipped up again. "the Tech-priests are laboring even as we speak. Sooner or later, we will be free from this abyss. And then we will strike down whatever traitorous scum brave or foolish enough to evoke the wrath of the Imperium. The Emperor has a plan, and he will come through for us. He always has."

"I never intended for my query to be taken that way."

"I understood that," the Dreadspear was repositioned tip-up again. "You must merely be careful whom you direct these questions at. Very easily could one interpret them as potential treachery, especially in times of turmoil such as this."

"I would die a million times before I stopped following the Emperor's path," Kronos spoke with a hint of anger now. "Every one of us would, and any who does not know as such is a fool."

"I would never doubt your loyalty Kronos. Neither would any of our brothers do so either, I would imagine," Damocles was now looking straight into his armor's eyes. It felt as if his stare alone could pierce the mighty protective suit better than any weapon. "But you must be somewhat self-conscious on how you you make yourself sound. Even our cadres need the skeptical in them, but one must not overstep his bounds in being that individual."

At last, a sigh escaped from Kronos' lips, likely barely audible through the thick armor plating. "Duly noted, Damocles."

"Excellent."

It looked as if there was to be a return to the silence of the not-so-far past. Despite considering the Dreadnought a friend, Kronos always knew their conversations had to be short. Not simply because of their duty, but also because every waking moment of an interned brother's life was wracked with pain, albeit more psychological than psychical, though no less agonizing.

Kronos could never imagine himself in such a position. He would lay down his life in but a moment for the Emperor and mankind, but when the topic of becoming confined into a walking coffin was involved, he would rather opt for Finis Rerum. He'd imagine that even talking would be uncomfortable, as would any other single action, mental or physical.

Which was part of the reason why he respected the interned brothers all the more. It took a will of steel beyond even that of any average Custodian to continue living as such. Which was why he was content with the void of sound around them. He wanted not to strain Damocles any further than absolutely necessary.

Alas, whatever false gods of fate there may, they seemed to be in the mood this day.

"Detecting movement in section 4546C," the Dreadnought spoke a second before Kronos' own display lit up with identical information. "Approximate ETA: 1 minute 32 seconds."

Both warriors raised their weapons and took on a combat stance. Damocles' wrist mounted Storm Bolters whirred to life as well. The wait was tense, and neither Custodian said a word to each-other. At last, they saw a shadowed figure emerge from one of the tunnels. However, Kronos allowed himself to lose some of his composure when he saw a familiar pattern of armor.

Thanatos, a member of the Sentinel Guard stationed in vaguely overlapping territory with his own unit, Kronos had not had much interaction with him. The Golden Legion's territory was so large to cover, some of them would never meet one-another and only be briefed on the bare necessities. However, from what he had heard on the vox-casters, he was a commendable member of the Guard, having taken place in over 30 different daemon sieges, surviving each one with respectable kill counts.

What went unexplained was his presence here. They occupied _vaguely_ similar areas, but the fact that his patrolling patterns had never led to them encountering each-other before led to suspicion. What alarmed the both of them more was the fact that his armor's optics were turned off.

A Custodian's optics were not simply peeping holes through the armor, they were a complex camera as well as visual display positioned directly onto the eyeball. Having their familiar crimson sheen turned off suggested that Thanatos was for whatever reason walking completely blind, which even with a Custodian's immensely improved senses, was a terrible idea.

"Thanatos, you have never been assigned to this sector. Care to explain what brings you here?" Kronos said. The other Custodian simply kept walking toward them. Kronos frowned underneath his armor, as his grip on his Spear tightened. _Is he even listening to me?_

"Thanatos, this is former Shield-Captain Damocles Cain talking: I would advise of ceasing your advance and informing us of your presence here immediately," he simply kept walking, seemingly entirely oblivious. Any ease Kronos might've felt was now completely obliterated. Thanatos' steps began to look more surreal than one could imagine a humanoid creature being capable of.

They were wobbly, uncoordinated and at more than one point it seemed as if his very legs were stretching. Kronos found himself clutching his Guardian Spear even tighter, as instincts and training kicked in, leading him into his combat stance once again.

Damocles was doing similarly, as he pointed the massive Dreadspear towards the approaching Custodian, blazing energies already being built up in it's Las-Pulser. "I warn you one final time, Thanatos. Stand down **now**."

The Custodian at last stopped in his tracks. Yet the feeling of offness did not go away. On the contrary, it only increased. Thanatos simply remained where he was, head pointed slightly downward. The atmosphere was thick and heavy with charge, as neither Kronos nor Damocles had any intention of lowering their weapons without the intruder, peaceful or not, explaining himself.

Then, with terrifying speed and an unnatural _crunch_, Thanatos' head shot up to stare at them with glowing eyes. Yet even though they were crimson befitting the helm of a Custodian, the sheer intensity radiated from them made both orbs seem more like tongues of flame being shot at them. It was only when "Thanatos" spoke that both realized what was about to happen:

"_**I WAS HOPING I COULD KILL YOU SWIFTLY IN THIS FORM. IT SEEMS I WAS WRONG. YOU CERTAINLY ARE VERY PERCEPTIVE. YET IN A WAY, I AM HAPPY FOR THIS,**_" the armor started to bulge and crack in spots, bits of flesh seemingly ballooning outward to dent it beyond recognition. "_**FOR YOU SEE, STEALTH WAS NEVER TRULY MY STRONG SUIT. I AM FAR MORE INCLINED TO SIMPLY TEAR AWAY UNTIL THE JOB IS DONE.**_"

The entire upper portion of the body suddenly burst upwards, a sea of blood, guts and ruined metal showering the Webway tunnel, coating some of their armor as well. From the bisected lower portion, a stream of red not of any corporeal realm began manifesting into a humanoid form. "_**BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GO-**_"

The creature's boast was cut short by cacophony of _noise_. Damocles' Storm Bolters were already tearing their way through the bloody mist, peppering what remained of Thanatos with large holes, as Bolt rounds tore through flesh material and immaterial alike. At last, a massive burst of the Dreadspear's Las-Pulser reduced whatever was left of the foul thing and the Custodian it had used as skin into ionized basic matter, a distinctive _crack _and searing flash of light being it's final burial rite.

Kronos could not help but feel a tinge of grief as he saw the last of the mist disperse. _Another gone._

Yet, he could not afford himself even another moment of consideration. There could be a potential infestation on their hands, and their Shield-Company was simply not prepared to deal with such at this time, if Phobos' condition had been anything to go by. Kronos made haste to the site of the wrecked body, swiping a sample of the bloody mess that was left not obliterated with his fingers.

Utilizing the built-in optic scanner, Kronos was fed an array of different information, but the one most important to him now was composition. Custodian blood mixed with an unidentified substance possessing immense innate psychic potential.

Damocles approached him, his weapons now disengaged, but his stance no less wary. "Theories?"

"Unidentified substance, reeking of the Warp. Daemon blood. Coupled with what the thing said, one of Khorne's," Kronos took less than a second to connect the dots. "Far too easily killed to be a Prince or Greater Daemon. Yet still too resilient to be mere Chaos spawn. Most likely a Bloodletter."

"One Bloodletter cannot bring down one of us without assistance. Several of them would struggle with an Astartes. This only leaves one logical conclusion."

A short pause left Kronos to voice that conclusion.

"There are more of them. Many more. And they're most likely coming this way."

As if on queue, more thumping noises came from the tunnels. Rasps and moans and screeching unmistakable by the hardened warriors. Both Guardians raised their weapons in preparation, as a massive shadowed horde could be seen emerging with fervor.

* * *

**Author's notes: **Wew, my first ever fic and it's about a couple o' golden bananas. I'm gonna be honest with ya, I never expected that I was ever going to write a thing. So yeah, this is going to be a bit of an experiment as it goes on. I do have a general outline of it planned of course, but I'll mostly make it up as I go along.

Of course, I have done my fair share of research on 40K, however as I'm going to make a habit of mentioning in every chapter, I am not an expert and am completely open to corrections.

On the subject of that, reviews and the like are all welcomed and very much appreciated. Just you know, preferably constructive criticism rather than tearing me a new asshole, yeah? (Although you can totally do that as well)

As a side note, try to get all the references I've put throughout this thing. Hint: There's a **bunch**.

Otherwise, that's kind of it for now. If anyone is actually interested, the fic should be updated fairly frequently (maybe once every several days/once a week is what I'm aiming), though I make absolutely no promises. The schedule should be taken as semi-consistent at the very best. This is your resident bonehead signing off now.


	2. Cataclysm

Check the bottom of the chapter for notes.

* * *

A daemon cohort of Khorne was usually the easiest to contain. Composed of eight packs of frenzied berserkers, led by a Herald of Khorne, one of the Lord of Skulls' chosen, their warrior madness frequently allowed for them to be routed into traps, split up or gunned down from afar. They typically employed little combat strategy, had almost no ranged units to speak of and were adamantly refused the power of the psychic arts. They were easy picking, relatively speaking.

Or so they would be for an entire Shield-Company. As it was, a Guardsman and a Contemptor-Achillus Dreadnought on their lonesome had the odds looking grim for them. Kronos was certainly not yet ready to die however, and he had the sneaking suspicion that Damocles felt the same.

"Any plans?" he asked as the horde grew closer, their approach heralded by their pledge to the Blood God and the Skull Throne that grew ever more frenzied throughout the ranks the closer they got to the fresh blood. Kronos revved up his Guardian Spear, while Damocles was doing similarly, his Storm Bolters whirring to life once more as well while he reloaded them.

"I'll thin them out with cover fire. You deal the final blows up close. Do not lose awareness of your environment for even a moment. They are not above back shots."

"You're asking me to engage them in close quarters?" Kronos asked, aghast at the Dreadnought's strategy. "Are you not far more suited to such a role?"

"If I or my weapons are damaged or destroyed, our perimeter is gone. My job is to be the hammer, but I need you to be the scalpel," Damocles began charging his Las-Pulser once more as the horde was nearly upon them. "Our teamwork must be perfect. Reinforcements are not coming in time, and we are all that stands between them and countless laborers of the Mechanicum. We both know we cannot afford to waste even a moment more than necessary in this place before it is closed off."

Kronos found himself with wiggle room to argue, but their time was up, as Damocles signaled the start of the blood bath with his massive Las-Pulser discharging, releasing a _crack _that pulverized several daemons immediately, while his wrist Bolters littered several tens of them with Bolt holes.

"Engaging!" Kronos yelled at last, entering into the fray among the compromised ranks while making sure to avoid the general area where the Dreadnought was currently serving the Emperor's wrath. Swinging his Spear in a circular motion, two Bloodletters were decapitated while a third was bisected all in one fell swoop...which unfortunately gained the attention of six or seven more of the wretched Warp spawn.

First among them to strike was a larger, slightly brawnier one, who charged the Custodian with all of his might, locking his massive dual-wielded Hellbalde with Kronos' own Guardian Spear, pushing the Guardian back three or four meters before his advancement ground to a halt.

Kronos was not particularly amused at the tactic, though he did commend how the Bloodletter stood his ground, breaking their "stalemate" and going in for a swing. He decided to repay the creature's bravery by parrying the uncoordinated attack and shoving his spear into it's abdomen, driving it upwards and splitting the creature in two, spilling boiling daemon blood everywhere.

Not ones to appreciate a good kill, ironically enough, two more of the Bloodletters charged the Custodian. Jumping tens of meters into the air, the first seemed to be attempting an aerial beheading. It was summarily cut into a collection of limbs, guts and blood by impossibly quick swings from the Guardian Spear, dealing the Custodian's armor a fresh new coat of red paint atop his already stained gold. He was glad daemon blood tended to quickly burst into harmless Warp fire.

The other beast took a more traditional approach by simply aiming to dice the Custodian by swinging it's mighty blade at him. Unfortunately for it, Kronos was simply too fast, as he stopped the assault easily by a combination of his superior speed and strength, before pinning the blade to the floor with his Spear. The thing was such an enraged monster it could not even think to let go of the blade to free itself, instead opting to continue it's maddened screeching and struggle uselessly against the Custodian. It would have been almost sad, if Kronos hadn't had most of his potential for sympathy ripped from him the moment he became one of the Golden Legion. Using his free hand, he caught the creature by the throat, unsurprisingly finding that it began to gnaw on his armored forearm. Deciding to reward the valiant effort and his chipped armor, the Custodian pulled his hand upwards with barely any effort, tearing bone, sinew and flesh to itty pieces, ripping the thing's head off along with portion of spine and sending it flying as a gory firework, with it's launching sparkles being a rain of crimson showering the battlefield further.

As Damocles had said however, the daemons were not interested in playing in fairness. Blood was blood, skulls were skulls, and their patron was not picky how and why these offerings were extracted, as long as it was done forcefully. So Kronos found himself beset on all sides from the four remaining Bloodletters. As the daemons descended before him, the Custodian engaged in a deadly dance that required much of his unrivaled skill and reflexes, as his Guardian Spear's Bolt Caster finally shone to life.

Meanwhile, Damocles' blockade was working. Any daemon that managed to miraculously escape his barrage either through sheer luck or inhuman determination quickly found itself cut apart by his Dreadspear or simply ground to bloody dust by underneath his feet. However, something was still amiss. Among the sea of daemons that were dropping easily enough, there was no Herald. That worried Damocles. He knew a leading figure of some sort had to be heading the cohort. They simply did not operate like this without one.

His worry was not compounded when at last, the leader did make himself known.

The legions of daemons were mighty adversaries indeed, but to an average Custodian the Lesser ones were only slightly more than simple fodder on their lonesome. Hordes such as this could challenge even Dreadnoughts, but ultimately, with enough firepower they could be cut down fairly easily. And then there were the Heralds. Far from being any ordinary Bloodletter, these ravenous warriors had been handpicked by Khorne and put through innumerable trials throughout thousands of years of warfare. They were the living saints of the Blood God, and the mightiest among them could even outmaneuver a Custodian.

And as his lenses zoomed in on the newly arrived beast, he knew such a Herald had graced them with it's foul presence. Powerfully built, towering over it's fellows and wielding a massive burning claymore, it's Blade of Blood made a terrifying customization to better invoke it's wrath. No doubt a Sacred Executioner, the mightiest of Khorne's Heralds, made in the flesh. Exactly what Damocles had feared.

"Kronos, the leading Herald has arrived. Leave the horde to me, your priority is taking him down. Without directive, the daemons will fall into disarray." Damocles was too busy issuing the order to notice that the presence of the Herald had already drove the Bloodletters' rage into a fever pitch. More daemons were making it through his wall of fire, lost limbs and full body lacerations merely pain fueling their rage, speeding their advance even further. Eventually, enough made it through the blockade to dogpile on the massive Dreadnought, tipping him over and using any possible part of their body to inflict some sort of harm. "Grrr!"

* * *

Kronos raised his spear, short in breath, the bodies of ten more Bloodletters at his feet for merely a moment, a moment ended when they burst back into the psychic cacophony they had been birthed of. "Damocles? Damocles, respond!"

"I'm fine! I can handle myself. I just need you to take care of the Herald," more and more thumping noises littered the Vox-comm, inhuman screeches and sickening crunches accompanying them. "It's the best way you can help me right no-Ghhh..."

Kronos wanted to help him, but he knew that he was right. He also knew the only reason the Warp spawn had even managed to make it through the unending stream of hellfire the Dreadnought could provide was because of the Herald. Fortunately for him, it was moving exactly his way. Tall, lean and looking more than ready to rip anything that stood in it's way apart, the daemon struck a commanding presence among his lower-ranking brethren, Bloodletters scuttling away from him in fear of being flayed alive.

"_**AT LAST, ANOTHER CUSTODIAN. ONE AT THE PEAK OF HIS POWER. THIS...HEHEHEHE, SHOULD BE QUITE INTERESTING**_"

"And what do they call you, wretch?"

"_**HMMMM,**_" was the creature...genuinely puzzled? "_**THE NAME CANNOT QUITE BE SPOKEN IN YOUR TONGUE, MATERIAL. BUT YOU MAY CALL ME NGRYNTHIS, EATER OF SOULS. AND SUNDERER OF YOUR FLESH.**_"

"Perhaps in your wildest dreams, abomination. But today you fall to the Emperor's might"

"_**OH, WE'VE FIRSTHAND EXPERIENCED HOW "EFFECTIVE" YOUR EMPEROR'S MIGHT WAS ONCE BEFORE THIS DAY ALONE. I TRULY DO HOPE YOU ARE ABLE TO ENTERTAIN ME BETTER THAN YOUR FELLOW. BUT BEFORE I TAKE YOUR SKULL, CARE TO SHARE YOUR NAME? IT WOULD MAKE FOR A BETTER TROPHY.**_"

"The name is Kronos Praesul of the 41st Shield-Company of the Legio Custodes, foul daemon. And you may go ahead and test yourself against my Spear. But I warn you, you will break yourself upon me."

"_**WE SHALL SEE, KRONOS OF THE CUSTODIANS,**_" the daemon lifted his claymore, releasing a short hushed screech, before swinging the weapon above his head and beginning his advance, building up his momentum into a full blown sprint, as an inhuman sound describable only as the sound of Hell bellowed forth from it's mouth.

The Custodian met his charge with not the slightest fear, himself bursting forward with speed impossible to grasp by normal human eyes. The two marauders meet in the middle of the slight open plain the complex crown of tunnels opened up to, their mighty weapons clashing with such intensity so as to cause a visible shockwave, dust and ash being catapulted hundreds of meters by their single blow. The Guardian and the daemon then engaged in complex dance of blocks and dodges, parries and deflections, moving with inhuman swiftness and coordination.

The Bloodletters around them seemed uninterested in helping their leader. If anything, Kronos could've sworn he saw the slightest tinge of fear upon their disgusting personas, perhaps them finally realizing through the haze of endless rage that the Custodian was a different warrior that what they had been accustomed to, matching their commander blow after blow. Or perhaps it was simply the fact that the Herald had marked the Custodian as his own, and any attempts on his life or in assisting Ngrynthis would result in a violent retaliation. However, their battle lust, as per always, was never satisfied, as the Bloodletters rushed towards the only other target in the general area: Damocles.

Now being dogpiled by several dozen of the crazed blood-hungry beasts, even he found himself barely able to move, their sheer mass and momentum keeping him down. The mighty Dreadspear lay several meters to his right, one of the few acts of wisdom he had ever seen the monsters partake in, as his Strom Bolters had run out of ammo and were currently also being torn to shreds. He knew his armor would hold, it was made to shrug off stomps from Titans, but he was currently stuck. And sooner or later, they would find some way to disable him.

Meanwhile, Kronos wanted to assist Damocles with his predicament, but he was far too busy with a daemon of his own. The Herald was proving himself every bit as fierce of an opponent as his boisterous bragging had suggested, each sword strike calculated and efficient, meant to cripple the Custodian rather than kill him immediately. He found surprise that such an inhumane creature, especially one of Khorne's, could be capable of such strategic assault, especially in the thick of a fight.

Damocles on the other hand found himself with a completely different problem, one of quantity rather than quality, as his patience for the horde began to grow thinner. Thankfully, with a bit of stealthy maneuvering, elbow grease and good old luck, he managed to slip one of his artificial arms from the grasp of what he could only assume should've been a dozen or so Bloodletters, grabbing and crushing three of them immediately with his massive palm, while the another half a dozen were maimed by the energy field of his Power Fist. Now the stalemate had been broken, one of his limbs free working towards freeing the others, shattering bone and ripping flesh in the process.

* * *

Kronos' fighting with Ngrynthis had led them further away from the main branch of the Webway sector, into one of the tunnels located on the ground floor. He had found that he had to keep mobile in order to not fall prey to the daemon. He was swift, brutal and unrelenting in his assault, to the point where the Custodian could barely maintain an edge through sheer skill. A sword strike from the left blocked by the body of his Spear, as a clawed appendage nearly made it's way into his throat, stopped inches away by his armored forearm. Dodging the next blow by the mighty Blade of Blood, the Custodian jumped a good six meters, completely unimpeded by his armor coming in at hundreds of kilograms, and let the momentum of gravity deliver a bone shattering strike with the hilt of his Spear, which nonetheless was blocked by the daemon's dual wielded weapon...just as Kronos had wanted, as he swung in circular motion, bringing the monomolecular tip mere inches from the creature's abdomen, only for the thing to display it's mind-boggling speed once again by moving away at the last moment, establishing a tad of distance between the two as it's mouth opened and it spoke with the same infernal voice:

"_**QUITE IMPRESSIVE, CUSTODIAN. I HAVEN'T FELT SO AWFULLY DELIGHTED BY A BATTLE IN A LONG TIME. PERHAPS THE BLOOD GOD MAY EVEN ALLOW ME TO KEEP YOUR SKULL WHEN I AM DONE WITH YOU. IF IT IS SO, I PROMISE TO CHERISH IT FOR ALL TIME TO COME.**_"

Kronos shrugged off it's attempts at intimidation, instead utilizing his brief break to go over his opponents weaknesses and strength, surveying his body for potential crippling shots and readying himself for the next assault. What he was not prepared to hear was the roaring thunder of what could only be described as hundreds of Warp spawn being ripped a new orifice. _Huh, I suppose Damocles managed to free himself after all._

Ngrynthis on the other hand, seemed less worried about his companions and more intently focused on prying the Custodian's skull off, be it dead or alive. Kronos assumed the later was preferable however, as the Herald charged him once more. He was ready as well, parrying the first strike from the claymore, before avoiding the clawed hand arm swinging at his face. Surely the second of those would not have dealt significant damage, however Kronos was not ready to lose an optic lens and potentially an eyeball over a gamble, as he brought his Guardian Spear down once again upon the Warp spawn, only to miss again due to his target's supreme reaction time, as the daemon wasted no time in pulling it's own blade back and thrusting towards him. Kronos managed to dodge this one as well, but only just barely, receiving a superficial burning scrape to his armor oblique section, feeling the sheer heat of the Blade of Blood even through the thick layers of auramite-alloy.

Kronos knew he had to act decisively now or he would lose. While neither he nor his opponent had reached any sort of straining point of their stamina yet, he knew well enough to see that just as he was studying, learning from him, so too was the wretch doing the same. That last attack had cut it a bit too close for his comfort, and the moment to end it was right here and now. He needed a plan.

Unfortunately, Ngrynthis seemed entirely disinterested in leaving him even a moment of breath, as the daemon once again charged with renewed vigor. To think he needed to keep the thing busy for a little while, and so, for a second time his Bolt Caster roared to life as a stream of deadly projectiles ripped through the air towards their target. He found it unsurprising that none of them hit their mark, the majority being avoided by the daemon, while some outright being deflected thanks to his blade. Even a regular Astartes was capable of reacting and dodging hypersonic weapon fire, so a daemon on par with a Custodian would likely have zero issues emulating such sharp reactions. Thankfully for him, the daemon still had to actively preoccupy himself with said evasive maneuvers as he thought of the final blow to end their confrontation.

Ah, yes. He had his strategy now. His Bolter fire ceased at last. It would be risky, perhaps even suicidal, but at this point the Custodian was past such things. This Herald could absolutely not be allowed to live. He had already downed one Custodian, and much as Kronos hated to admit, was on the cusp of doing the same to him as well. With a final reassuring grip of his Guardian Spear, the Custodian at last charged at the daemon, ready to make his final stand. Ngrynthis in turn took his battle stance, ready to meet the assault head on, his resolve to disembowel the transhuman warrior with his own final blow solidified. He could not anticipate what came next.

The Custodian jumped into the air once more, doing a backflip roughly 10 meters above the Herald's head, his flawless acrobatics not impeded at all by his bulky armor. Landing and balancing precariously on a single arm, the Custodian found that he did not have to maintain the awkward position for long, as within a microsecond the daemon had adapted and seen through his strategy, turning around at breakneck speeds, fully intent on delivering a killing strike. Just as planned.

Kronos propelled himself a few feet into the air with his arm, the burning Blade of Blood just barely missing his head, the radiant heat detectable even through his reinforced helmet. In that instant, mustering all of his speed and strength, the Custodian turned his body 90°, now giving the daemon a literal sideways glance while still in mid-air, as the the creature retracted his sword once again for another swing, while the Custodian readied his spear.

Both weapons thrust at speeds incomprehensible to unaugmented visual receptors, but ultimately, Kronos was simply faster and his weapon's reach was longer. The Guardian Spear slammed into the daemon's body, all it's built-up energy impacting the Herald with the strength of a rampaging Titan, sending it flying tens of meters, splattering it's guts everywhere as it's body was torn to pieces by the sheer force of the attack, it's own blade perhaps almost tragically missing the Custodian by only inches once more, as said Guardian lamented on how many close calls he had had this day alone.

At last landing from his temporary levitation, the killing blow he had delivered, what would have looked as a blur lasting barely a fraction of second to an outside observer, had left him mentally exhausted, normally inconsequential timeframes having been morphed into agonizingly long moments of near-death by his enhanced senses. Yet the Custodian could not allow himself even a sliver of rest, as he had to examine the body. One never knew what to expect with daemons, especially one as impressive as what he had just faced.

He found it disemboweled into several chunks, some limbs, and the daemon's own head. All were slowly disintegrating into Warp fire. Good. The first uplifting news he had seen today. And by the sounds of it, or rather, lack of sounds, he'd imagined Damocles had managed to repel the daemonic horde. _That, or they've already killed him and moved on to another outpost while I was distracted._

He shook his head. No, that could not be possible. Damocles was not so easily beaten. He had over three centuries as Dreadnought under his belt to prove as such. Yet, he couldn't help but feel a sense of unease, one that was not helped by the fact that the daemon's face was yet alive, barely holding out against the fire consuming it, a look of resigned failure on it's face.

"_**QUITE SHAMEFUL OF ME TO NOT SEE THROUGH THAT ROUSE. I SUPPOSE I DID BITE MORE THAN I COULD CHEW HOWEVER,**_" was that...melancholy he could detect in it's voice? "_**ALAS, IT SEEMS IT WILL HAVE TO BE ANOTHER, MORE WORTHY ONE THAT CLAIMS YOU TODAY. I LOOK FORWARD TO THAT CHAMPION RETURNING TO THE BRASS CITADEL.**_"

The statement hit like a Terminator Power Fist to the gut. "What? What are you saying daemon? What do you mean by "more worthy one" and "today"?"

"_**HEHEHEHEHE, DID YOU TRULY THINK OUR ATTACK WOULD COMPRISE ONLY A SINGLE COHORT? RIGHT AT THIS INSTANT, SEVEN MORE COMPRISING A FULL LEGION OF BLOOD ARE HEADING HERE, CUSTODIAN,**_" the thing was nearly entirely consumed by Warp fire, only the mouth barely remaining. How the thing managed to still converse was something beyond the Custodian. "_**I ONLY TELL YOU THIS BECAUSE YOU PROVIDED ME AN EXHILARATING FIGHT. I HOPE YOU MAY BATTLE TO YOUR DYING BREATH. NO OTHER FATE WOULD BE FITTING.**_"

The last remnants of his body burned away into the hell it had come from, but Kronos was far too busy to notice. _Legion of Blood. Eight cohorts. Based on the one already encountered, around 88 daemons per cohort. Cohort leaders: Heralds of Khorne. All likely equal or superior in skill to the one already encountered. Plus a Bloodthrister, a Greater Daemon not to be engaged without a full Shield-Company under any circumstance._

The logical part of his brain was saying these statements, it was examining the facts in cold, calculating fact, but the rest of his mind was geared into overdrive. The sudden realization that all that he and Damocles had fought for this day was for naught. That they would die, overrun by the coming horde and at best able to inform their already tired and depleted Company, who would likely be unable to receive reinforcements.

And yet again, by some inconceivable tzeentchian lottery, Kronos suddenly heard IT. The sound of the depths of warrior Hell itself, unleashed as physical strength across the the numerous tunnels of the Webway. It had to be IT. There was no other explanation.

Kronos steadied himself, tightening his grip on his Spear. _I am going to die here. _It was acceptable. He had been trained for this moment, to face death with dignity and battle until his last bone was broken, his last organ punctured, his last artery cut. He never expected it would be this day, off all days that would result in him giving his final service to the Emperor.

_Then again, when was one ever ready for their own death? _he realized pondering any further upon the subject served him in absolutely no way. The horde was growing closer, he could hear it. But, as he aimed his Spear at the incoming storm, ready to charge into battle one final time, he remembered a critical detail about the very area he was dying to defend:

It was unstable. Extremely unstable.

Reinvigorated by a sudden idea, the Custodian broke off into an inhuman sprint, the first and last time he had ever ran away from a confrontation. Covering hundreds of meters in only a few seconds, he found himself back at the large opening he had been stationed at. There, thankfully, Damocles stood tall and proud, albeit looking worse for wear, numerous scratches and dents upon his mighty frame, his Storm Bolters ruined, but ultimately still alive. The remains of the daemonic horde he had slaughtered had likely already disintegrated. But on his right was the true object of his interest, his mighty Dreadspear, still not reclaimed. Kronos rushed to it, not even bothering to check in on Damocles despite his calls to him, instead focusing on the gargantuan weapon's Las-Pulser, tearing it's power core out with his bare hands. Damocles, now alarmed by his companion, yelled at him with full force of his Vox-casters:

"Kronos, what on Terra are you doing?"

Kronos raised his head from his work, his quick modification of the power cell finished. As he stared the Dreadnought in the eyes, a flurry of emotions hit him. Guilt, anger, resolve, sadness, all fought a brutal battle in his mind, but ultimately, one reigned above the others: acceptance. He allowed himself a small smile as he replied:

"My duty, Damocles."

With that, the Custodian charged at full speed once again, leaving a baffled Dreadnought in his wake, too dumbstruck to even pursue him. He descended upon the tunnel where the noise could be heard at it's strongest. Hoping that his makeshift explosive would be enough. Hoping the tunnel would be unstable enough. Hoping he would be enough.

There, turning a corner, he came face-to-face with the largest collection of daemons he had ever had the displeasure of witnessing. Bloodletters, Flesh Hounds and of course, the Heralds of Khorne themselves. All in front of a massive daemon coated in armor of brass, at least 15 meters tall, it's four gargantuan arms each brandishing a burning instrument of pain.

But Kronos had no fear. His fate was already sealed, and if could take all of these wretched beasts into the Warp with him, then so be it. In but the last moment of detonating his device, Kronos considered the option of the blast extending far more outward than he could imagine. So, in preparation for his final sacrifice, he opened the Vox-caster to Damocles' frequency and uttered one simple word.

"**Run.**"

As he immediately turned it back off again, his land upon the makeshift trigger switch, the legions of Chaos nearly upon him, he hoped that Damocles had heard him. He hoped that he would listen. He hoped that blast wouldn't be as great as his worst estimates. Really, hope was but the last thing one would think to harbor in such a situation. But as he engaged the switch and threw the compromise bomb onto the daemon horde a mere dozen meters before him, hope was all that Kronos could think of.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **I'm totally not gearing up towards making cliffhangers a regular thing in writing this. Nope, not at all.

In all seriousness, Chapter 2 is finally done and I couldn't be happier about it, because Chapter 3 is going to be where things get...weird. And very, very surreal. And I love writing that shit.

Again, as I've mentioned, I do my fair share of research on these chapters, but I am NOT an expert, so if I fuck anything up, be sure to correct me in the R̶e̶v̶i̶e̶w̶s Comments below (let's be honest, that's basically what they are).

Side note: As pointed out by some R̶e̶v̶i̶e̶w̶e̶r̶s (you get the joke), yes, the chapters are going to come out with a fair bit of grammar mistakes. I simply like to work with the brunt of the work first and then fine tune it later because it's easier for me. So, for all of those worried, the mistakes of the previous chapter have likely all been ironed out by now, as will the potential mistakes of this chapter be ironed out by the time the third one rolls around.

Otherwise, rate, comment, subscribe, like, donate to my **obligatory money giving website FF won't let me write for some reason** and give me all your Robux. This is your resident bonedome signing off.


	3. Inferno

Check the bottom of the chapter for notes.

* * *

Darkness.

A horrible, sickening darkness, one not born of any material cause, not because of merely the absence of light, but absence of sanity, restraint and the complete anathema to any semblance of order, any resemblance to reason.

It was as if a cancerous tumor had grafted itself into his very soul, gobbling and feasting upon any positive thought that could be extracted from it, feeding the tumor, making it greater, only for it to require even greater fuel for it's growth, and continuing the vicious cycle.

He knew where he was. He could not see, as his optics had, along with the rest of his armor, perhaps mercifully, turned off. But the sheer aura of such a place could not be warded off with any reinforced plating, for it was the place where the physical was irrelevant, while the spiritual found itself amidst the most perilous crossroads there could exist, assaulted by all the horrors imaginable and unimaginable, only to eventually be worn down completely and consumed by the abyss.

Kronos wished he could've died in the explosion. To burn out in a blaze of glory was the far preferred alternative to slowly, painfully fading away. And that was exactly what was going to happen to him. He could slowly feel his soul, his very essence, buckle and strain under the psychic pressure. He would hold out, he was designed to do so, but it would not be indefinitely.

And yet, there was one thing that prevented him from utilizing the Guardian Spear he still had grasped tightly to refuse the daemons any claim they could make to him or his soul by beating them to the punch and taking his own life: a golden, ethereal light.

The concept of light to a man stuck inside of an impenetrable armor that allowed no glimpse of the outside world, or in this case, dimension, seemed ludicrous. Kronos would have had a slight chuckle at the concept himself, which translated to full blown uproarious laughter in Custodian terms, yet as he found himself in such a situation, he could feel said light shining upon him, lightening the burden of being a prisoner of the Warp. There was only one explanation Kronos could seriously consider: the Emperor.

The Golden Throne did not simply act as a psychic control panel for the Webway, it also projected the Emperor's psyche into the Warp, preventing daemons from infiltrating the soil of the great, beating heart of the Imperium, manifesting his will as a brilliant Golden Sun.

It was this very metaphorical, yet all too literal sun, permitted only by the nature of the Warp, that was guiding him. Keeping him alive, keeping him sane and keeping him hopeful. Perhaps, maybe, just maybe, the Emperor might be able to locate him through his Warp signature, and retrieve him when he had the chance. When he would finally break the Arch-traitor's rebellion and retake his rightful place as Master of Mankind, perhaps Kronos could be there to witness it.

_Ha, as if that will ever happen. _The Emperor already had his hands full with a galactic empire tearing itself apart. Even if he could feel the Custodian's presence in the maelstrom of psychic currents that was the Warp, a task comparable to locating an individual atom inside of an ocean, he doubted on whether he'd even bother dispatching the manpower to retrieve him. Irreplaceable as a Custodian was in their own way, a mission so dangerous would no doubt have far more to lose than ever to gain from rescuing a soldier that could no doubt be emulated given enough time.

* * *

Falling.

The sensation was pulling at him, yet there was no air, no sound and no end. The falling continued. For days, for weeks, for months perhaps? He knew not, and in honesty did not care. He simply continued his descent, with the foreboding sense that the conclusion to the sensation was not coming anytime soon his only companion.

* * *

He breached something at last.

Whatever layer he had fallen through, it felt like splashing into water and yet smashing into concrete. After the crash, the fall continued. The same, though simultaneously different. The pull of gravity harder, the feeling of acceleration more prevalent. And the most glaring change, the sensation of his brain pressing up against his skull. He could feel his mind, not just his brain, as if a physical object, contort, crack and stretch by the pressure.

Visions of pain, pleasure, ambition and death all flashed through his mind. Fundamental concepts, different though still equally necessary, with mortal and immortal alike caught in the deadly dance of the thirsting gods above them.

* * *

The Golden Sun had risen.

For the first time in what seemed like eternity, it's magnificent shine was even closer to the Custodian, as the Master of Mankind himself had descended into the Webway to deal the final blow to the Ruinous Powers' minions. Yet, in that instant of his presence, a more sinister happening did not go unnoticed: a thousand souls, crying out in anguish, as they were reduced to ash and dust, not recyclable by even the Warp. He knew not what it meant, only that the Sun was back atop his golden prison all too soon, the hordes of Warp taint driven back by will. But, the greatest tarnished spot was not found within the Immaterium, but right among the inhabitants of the physical reality, practically on Terra's doorstep.

* * *

A smell of blood hung in the air, a foreteller of events to come perhaps. The smell was sickeningly overpowering, grabbing at his very breath, practically suffocating him.

But in fact, it was actually intending to drown him. His armor was filling up, it's joints tightening to a point where the slightest wrong twitch of muscles would break bones. Whether it was doing so to cause him more anguish or to prevent the fluid seeping in from the advancing mattered little. He could still feel it's ascent, the blood bubbling and shifting to something far worse.

He wanted to scream, but the air had been sucked out of his lungs, leaving his mouth agape. The liquid at last reached his helm, covering his head. He tried holding his breath, but it was useless. The liquid filled his lungs through his nostrils, seemingly consciously slipping through the orifice. Burning him from the inside out, corroding his flesh and blood, writhing in agony his only option.

And then it was gone. The pain, the blood, the acidic liquid; vanished. **What...**

* * *

The Golden Sun moved once more.

No longer a static observer to the war, a different beacon had replaced him. Although no less commanding in presence, it was merely a cheap imitation of what had come before, a shade of the incorruptible power once present atop the Throne of all Mankind. But that was not important at that moment. The Golden Sun moved instantaneously to another location, and was faced with his complete opposite. A golden son once among the most brilliant of his brethren, now reduced to a mockery of his former self, the very representation of the Ruinous Powers.

The emissary of the Dark Gods struck at the Master of Mankind, and after a brief struggle, laid him low, practically dangling the light of his soul by the abyss. Yet although the initial strike did not make him yield completely, he refused to strike back at his son either. That was until another presence, a minuscule one in comparison to the two juggernauts, entered the fray. Perhaps a lone guardsman, perhaps an Astartes warrior, or perhaps even one of his own brethren, Kronos could not tell. However, it mattered not, as the brave soldier soon found himself on the receiving end of mental and physical psychic raping of the worst kind, literally flayed alive from the inside out in both body and soul. The act, such a vile and foul abuse of the human spirit, reverberated throughout the Warp, a tinge of it's horrid sensation reaching even the forsaken Hell the Custodian was condemned to.

Suddenly, the Golden Sun flared to life once more, burning with rage unparalleled at his son's heinous action. Perhaps at last recognizing the hopelessness of his son's condition, he struck at last through a chink in the Arch-traitor's aura, erasing his soul completely, barring it from ever being resurrected by his dark masters. His body was left without a scratch, but his essence, his very being, was entirely obliterated.

And then, just as it had burned brighter than it had ever done before, the light of the Sun died. It withered away, casting a cold emptiness within his soul, a part of it undoubtedly lost forever to the void. Kronos wanted to scream, he wanted to cry and beg. He wanted to go insane, act like a wild beast and tear anything he could get his hands on to shreds. He wanted to rage a war against the gods so great it would ignite the heavens.

But he could not do so. His body had stopped obeying him and instead he had to wait. It was all he could in this accursed place, wait and listen, and it was tearing him apart. Minute by minute, second by second, every moment wracked with pain, hate, guilt and misery. And at the brink of madness, at last, a small beacon of respite appeared.

The literal beacon, the one atop the Golden Throne, nearly extinguished, the pale imitator no doubt reduced to ash, flickered for the briefest of moments, and with it too did the Custodian's hearts, only for the Golden Sun to return. Weaker, paler, yet still unmistakable, his return was a calming presence upon his wracked mind, though it could never heal the wounds that had already been inflicted on his psyche. The prospect of a world bereft of their leader, of **it's **leader, once thought of as merely an impossible scenario only explored in the deepest and most silent corners of the Imperium's inhabitants, had now become an all too apparent possible reality. It terrified him.

* * *

The tides were pulling at him, stretching his limbs, his body reduced to practically modeling clay. Bones made jelly, flesh made viscous. The pain? Immense, mind-numbing. It was worse than any material torture he could've ever been punished with. But it still did not hold a candle to the myriad of other tortures he was sure to face. A foreboding sensation in the back of his mind, perhaps even an enhanced sense, assured of as much.

He was beginning to long for death.

* * *

For the first time in a long time, he was bathed in actual, legitimate light. Of course, it was a shame it had to come at the cost of his armor glowing literally red due to heat.

The blistering heat, like all the plagues sent to torment him, came out of nowhere, and it did not seem to be retracting any time soon. As his flesh boiled away, leaving only charred bone, and his body continued to burn, his armor was filled with smoke smelling of scorched flesh. As the feeling of inescapable asphyxiation came on to him, combined with his fiery agony, he truly did wish for the sweet release of death.

* * *

Flies burst forth from every pore of his bloated, diseased body, tearing off chunks of half-rotted flesh, as blood flowed like macabre fountains from his wounds. The flies, stuck inside of his armor, unable to escape, sooner or later found themselves digging back into his body, consuming whole organs before laying eggs and starting the process all over again. And again, and again, and again.

He was far past the mere notion of death at this point.

* * *

Drifting in-between consciousness and unconsciousness, his sanity slipping with each passing day, he knew sooner or later, the Warp would break him. A Custodian's mind was a fortress, shackled with chains of adamantium, but it had been designed to face the horrors of real space first and the Immaterium a distant second. No amount of training had prepared him for the bouts of supernatural torture that had been inflicted upon him only recently, and the only reason he was sure he had not already gone insane was because of small moments of respite like the ones he was having at the moment.

Perhaps whatever Greater Daemon that inflicted his torment grew bored after a while, after all they were known to be very fickle creatures, leaving the position open for another one of their wretched kin to play with the little material toy. Perhaps he was merely pondering on something worthless, as he often did during these short times of rest.

Maybe, just maybe, going insane would not be so bad? He would certainly not be feeling the same kind of pain as he did now, and the worries of the Imperium at large in his absence and the absence of the Emperor would not worry him either. Ignorance was bliss after all. All it would take would be one daemon getting a bit too excited about their precious mortal toy, and ending him truly, without a way of fixing him to only entertain further.

However, in small bursts of clarity, he did recognize these as nothing but ramblings of his half-crazed mind, desperately seeking a way out of his living Hell. Secretly he knew the daemons were keenly aware of what they were doing to him, they had done so for millennia and were not ones to let a good toy go. He also knew that going insane might just further his suffering even more. But hope was all that was left to him in this horrid perversion of reality.

As these thoughts went through his wracked brain, he slowly felt himself growing more aware, awakening from his half-slumber fully. This sensation usually applied itself when a daemon desired to manipulate him for their own amusement, so he prepared his mental barriers, for all the good they were going to do. Yet...nothing came. No immeasurable anguish of the mind, body and soul struck. He was left floating, as he usually was before the daemons took interest in him.

And then he felt it. Shining upon him with the intensity of a supernova, yet only as warm as a comfortable summer breeze, the Golden Sun himself was upon him, it's ethereal light taking him to a golden chamber of greatness, one mimicking it's material counterpart in every way perfectly. There, at the top of his Golden Throne, stood...

"My...my Emperor..." Kronos kneeled before his master, joyous nearly to the point of tears. But then, he remembered where he was. The haze of happiness stricken temporarily from his mind, he became more wary immediately. _What if it is a daemon's trick?_

"Is there something the matter, my son?" the Emperor said in the booming, authoritarian voice he had always known, yet there was something gentler to it. A father greeting a long lost son and servant or a daemon attempting to sugarcoat him into a false sense of security only to rip the carpet off from under his feet?

"My lord, I wish not to doubt you in the slightest," Kronos began, careful with his words. "But, I cannot be sure if I am talking to you, or a foul illusion spawned of the Warp to trick me into more torture. I have been subjected to nothing but that over a period of time I can no longer properly gauge, so forgive me for questioning whether it is truly you or not. If you can, please my lord, show me proof that you truly are here, in your own illuminating presence."

"Hmm, a most valid concern, my loyal servant. So many years of being a plaything of Chaos and yet your mind has not been numbed to logical decision making. It is quite a feat, even among the Legio Custodes. Very well, I shall tell of something no daemon has gotten out of you yet, seeing as you have managed to retain your sanity. Your very origins," The Emperor descended from his Throne, his glowing eyes, lit with the power of a million suns now staring right through him. "You were born Titus Avox, son of a small noble family upon my most precious Terra, on 776.M30. You were offered as tribute to a Custodian host that had been dispatched to fill the ranks of my Guardsmen in preparation for my Great Crusade across the stars. After vigorous testing, you were among the few deemed worthy of all of Terra's billions. Throughout your life you were quiet, introverted and typically only voiced your opinions when asked or when around those which you were comfortable with. In the battlefield, you were a mighty warrior, albeit in a contingent of such mighty warriors as my Custodes, you did not distinguish yourself to a great degree, remaining only a Guardsman. However, one feature applauded or reviled depending on whom asked that you showed was an unusually large amount of concern for the safety of others and for the greater good, even that of mortals. This led to your entrapment here, as you went in to sacrifice your life for the good of your brothers and the continued survival of Terra."

"M-my lord," Kronos knew Custodians did not cry. It was, practically speaking, impossible for them. But finally gazing upon his liege, his one true master, after what felt like an eternity of suffering, he came close. Very close. "I am so sorry for ever doubting your presence."

"It is not time to dwell on that my son, for I have greater plans for you. Dark days are coming, and the might of the Legio Custodes shall be needed once more to push back the advancing tide of horrors assaulting us once more. Alas, I will need a catalyst to kickstart my forces once more in glory, and you will be it."

"But, my lord, why not contact me sooner? Why not tell this directly to the rest of the Custodes?"

"My courses of actions since my entrapment within the Throne are...rather limited. I can only contact you now, after such a long time, due to an unnaturally large breach between real space and the Warp, which I intend to exploit in sending you back there as well. My means of communication are also nearly completely cut off. Even having this conversation with you right now, my son, is pushing me to my limits. But that too, is not important right. Some time has passed in the Materium. Things have changed, and the Imperium is not what it used to be. And everyday, it's actions bring me to the verge of tears even more. This is where you must come in. I have long since been deprived of a vessel from which to act to fix the destruction and chaos my empire has been subjected to, and you are but the first part of achieving that vessel. Do you accept to serve me once more?"

"Oh. Of course my lord, I will go forth and be an instrument of you will once more, never stopping until your desires are satiated, or unless my very life is sapped from my body."

"Good. The time is here. Brace yourself."

The massive golden room was suddenly torn in half by a massive rift, as a painful sensation unlike any of the other tortures he had felt before gripped him. Practically dragged into the rift, the Emperor's presence and his reaffirmed faith were all that kept the Custodian from insanity once more, as his whole world went white. However, just before he passed out, he could've sworn he saw his magnificent golden lord reduced to terrifying visage of ancient cybernetic skeletal remains upon a rotting Golden Throne.

* * *

The sound of waves washed over him. A gentle smell of salt and putrefaction tugged at his nostrils. It was all but certain that he was near an ocean. He attempted to get up, only to fail. He was so very tired, and his suit was still booting up. He had not the strength to stand back up without it's automatic processes helping him. And so, for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, he found himself as close to a relaxing rest as possible. But his mind still sizzled and boiled with the words of his liege, and just what exactly he was meant to do in this place to fulfill his ambitions.

As his armor finally restored functionality to his limbs, Kronos raised himself from the ground with some effort, before his knees nearly buckled beneath the weight. It seemed the antics of the accursed Warp spawn that had wronged him had caused him even greater distress that initially presumed, but sooner rather than later, he at least found his balance, strength slowly returning to him. However, his optics had yet to be reactivated, so with a quick movement of his hands, he disengaged the mechanisms that kept his helm firmly bolted to the rest of his suit and at last, took it off, the first fresh breath of air he had gotten since time immemorial.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **Holy fuckerduddles, this chapter is finally done. Feels like it's been forever to be honest, but that's probably just my workaholic side talking. If you think this chapter was a bit thin in content, it's cause I'm mostly reserving it for next chapter.

Also, yes, whenever our golden banana man refers to E-Money, it will not be in capital letters, because he was raised back when the Emprah was strictly against the whole worship thing. Not that he isn't now, he's just too corps-y to do anything about it.

As I make a point of it in every chapter, I do my fair share of research but I should never be taken as an expert on this shit. If I make any big dumbs, everybody is more than welcome to correct me.

That's basically it for this time. As always, reviews or just comments in general are very much requested and appreciated, otherwise, see you guys in the next Minecraft letsplay episode. This is your resident Imperium-sanctioned skeletal organism signing off.


	4. Destiny

Check the bottom of the chapter for notes.

* * *

He placed his helm on the soft sand of the beach he found himself on. Blue oceans stretched for miles in front of him, their waves gentle and their sound relaxing. A refreshing salty breeze blew across the sun swept lands, giving his face some much needed moisture. He found himself awestruck by the beautiful environment. He was expecting to be dropped into some war-torn despotic slave planet, to fight in his Emperor's name. Yet he could've never imagined just the opposite would greet him.

However, just as he felt the grip of complacency closing in on his mind, he remembered a terrible detail about unfortunate banishments to the Warp: it tended to mutate creatures. Badly. Especially when daemons directly toyed with them.

Rushing over to the water's edge, the Custodian took a long, hard, and detailed look at his face, examining every possible distinguishing feature to make sure they were all in their rightful place. Dull brown eyes stared back at him, his reflected visage seemingly untouched. His dirty blonde hair was still intact, his prominent chin had thankfully not grown any horns, and his implants appeared to all be in the same place, unaltered. Put at ease by this revelation that, at least at first glance, his perilous descent to the brink of madness had not caused any truly incurable wounds, at least to his physical vessel, the Custodian raised himself to his full height once more. Albeit now calmer, his previous paranoia had jumpstarted his brain into full capacity from whatever sluggishness had remained of his travel through the Warp rift. Now keenly aware of his environment, something immediately felt off about this supposed paradise world which emulated the Terra of old legends. His olfactory senses were picking up smoke in the air, and a nagging feeling in the back of his mind assured him that, despite initial looks, something deeply unholy was going on in this seemingly perfect world.

_Perhaps a perk gained from my stay in the Warp? Or a daemon trying to drill into my skull? _He supposed it did not matter as long as he stayed where he was. Even if whatever world he had landed upon was an entirely peaceful and prosperous compliant planet of the Imperium, he was still no doubt light years away from where he had to be to serve his master. Treading back to his landing spot, he only just noticed that his Guardian Spear has thankfully been transported with him. Good, at least he had access to some rudimentary weaponry, albeit with limited ammunition. Picking up his Spear and his helm, he decided he's been stuffed inside of the thing for more than long enough. He knew that going without head protection was a tactically inept decision, but he was intending to keep a low profile anyway.

He began his march, moving away from the small beach respite he had found himself in, disguised yet at the same time blind to the environment beyond by two enormous sand dunes. Given what they tended to dictate however, he had suspicions on what kind of biome he would find himself in, suspicions which were confirmed once he made it past the dunes, stumbling upon a seemingly endless sea of desert. However, the Custodian knew there was more to this, as he surveyed the sky and witnessed the smallest hint of a column of smoke, his senses no less sharp than they had been prior to his incident it seemed. Taking his direction as set, he finally began the long walk towards whatever the source of the smoke was, making sure to never once pry his eyes away from his surroundings.

* * *

He was only just beginning to appreciate how harsh the sun was on this world. He must've landed during early morning, as the heat really became smoldering. It was thankful that the Emperor had built the Custodes to last. His instruments indicated that he had been walking for roughly 2 hours now, and yet no settlements were in sight. The pillar was always there however, and the smell of charred materials hung in the air, both growing evermore as he continued in his quest.

Almost agonizingly slowly, two more hours passed by. The sun was now in the middle of the sky, as the midday rays proved to be the most distressing yet. The environmental thermometer on his suit read of a scorching 70° C, and it seemed the heat was not going to die down any time soon. The oceans of sand gave way to little else to distract him, as nothing propped out of the bland, beige landscape save for the occasional rock and maybe a tiny specimen of alien fauna that he could not recognize.

Kronos found himself quite parched, though he supposed it was only natural. He hadn't exactly been preoccupied with eating or drinking during his unfortunate stay in the Warp, and that entire fiasco undoubtedly lasted a considerable amount of time. Custodes were designed with having superhuman endurance in mind, with some not needing to eat at all during even years, provided they stood mostly still and fell into a meditative state that had been one of the central points of their training, slowing their metabolism down to near death, yet still remaining alert enough to immediately jump into action.

Water was a different beast however, mostly because even a Custodian body, or indeed any human-based body, could not support reserves of it. In situations such as these, stranded and without assistance, his teachers had instructed of all basic necessities. Water was obviously chief among them, so on desert worlds which harbored an atmosphere, the first course of action was to follow the animals and the plants. Where there were those, there was water. However, Kronos could not simply follow one of the vaguely insectoid creatures that he had found scurrying around right now, so the black fumes in the sky remained his only lifeline. A lifeline that was beginning to thin out and disappear.

He quickened his pace, despite his body protesting of the boiling heat within his suit. Putting his helmet back on for more protection from the deadly rays, and at the same time to cool himself a tad more, he checked if the environmental control system was still online. He found that, disappointingly but perhaps predictability, outside of base needs such as oxygen, higher systems had malfunctioned. Damage report thankfully told of a likely-to-be easy fix up, however he had no time for that.

Walking for a further period of time he bothered not to check, he witnessed as the smoke cleared more and more, although he was making progress. The base of the pillar appeared closer, as much as most of time was dispersed at this point. Navigating around a more elevated area now, filled with numerous titanic dunes, he found himself face with a truly enormous one, raising at least 100 meters off the ground simply by eyeballing. The source of the the smoke seemingly lay just beyond it, and there were no other obvious passages he could sniff out. Taking one last look at the dune, Kronos hazarded a guess that he would simply have to brunt it. Preparing himself, shifting into a half-crouch, spear now strapped to his back, he knew he would have to be fast enough to counteract the sinking he would suffer due to the massive weight of his armor and yet slow enough to stop himself atop the dune to get a better view of his environment.

Tensing his muscles, he broke off into a sprint. Arriving at the foot of the massive sand mound, he launched himself a good fourth of it's height into the air, landing before pushing himself into a full run once again, the sand and the tilted angle of the dune constantly threatening to throw him off, until several second later he at last found himself at it's peak. Steadying himself, gravity constantly clawing at his feet, he at last saw the source of his beacon. A sight so joyous for his sore eyes, and at the same time morbidly intriguing.

A city. Or part of it, anyway. Imperial in design from the few buildings he could pick out, though extremely outdated and seemingly ancient. Possibly an ancient colony establishment. Capacity of a couple of million, if he had to guess. But of course, it's most notable feature was being utterly ruined. Blasted buildings littered it's landscape far more than standing ones did, bloody splatters could be viewed even from several kilometers away, as tiny as they were, and a good half of it was a charred hellhole likely only recently done burning if it's state and the plume of smoke that had guided him there was anything to go by. For any normal person, this city would serve as a harrowing bringer of hope from the desert, one where the opportunity of survival was greater but laced with far more dread generated by the simple state of it's being.

For Kronos, it was merely the start of his personal crusade in the Emperor's name. A quick respite and refueling station in the middle of this blasted heath where he would find the means of leaving this place and assisting his leader on Terra. Certainly, he would encounter nothing out of the ordinary here, aide from whatever poor, unfortunate barbarian human or xeno that had caused the devastation, which would be summarily cut down for wasting the Imperium's resources by his superior might. Certainly, even something like a small Eldar force would yield before a Custodian.

Then why was it that he still felt on edge as he proceeded towards it?

* * *

The city was close now, and he was beginning to notice distinguishing features. Shop signs, street labels, _corpses_. The roads were quite literally covered by them in some instances, a mix of colorful civilian garbs and drab military uniforms, all stained with crimson, strewn about and left to rot. Some were ritualistically mutilated, made into grotesque icons of flesh, while others had merely been slaughtered and left behind. He noted that as he got close enough to properly examine the bodies, those more unfortunate were at a slightly more advanced stage of decay. Something however, was driving him to wretch far worse than the gory display before him: the stench of the Warp hanging in the air.

Kronos furrowed his brow. Chaos, sacrifices, dead occupying force. There was certainly a connection between these things, but he could not yet be sure of it. The natives could simply be Chaos worshipers by culture, or they could have had secret cults, or perhaps something else entirely. But how could they act out in such a way in the open? Could a cult truly be so powerful as to break down civil law immediately, an absolute given if the technological progress of the city was to be taken into account, on this world? At the same time, the military force was of suspicion to him as well.

Recognizable, yet at the same time distant, it could perhaps be them who had brought the foul stench of the Warp upon the planet. Although they bore the mark of the Imperium upon their uniforms, there was no doubt several hundreds, if not thousands, of traitor regiments of the Imperial Army which had defected to the Warmaster's side during Kronos' entrapment in the Warp. And even though he could tell that some time had passed since his master had wiped the Arch-traitor's soul from existence, some traitors had undoubtedly remained.

Ultimately, it didn't matter at this point. He needed a way off the planet and a safe road to Terra. The Imperial Army and the Legio Astartes could handle whatever the Warp could thrown at them whenever they arrived, and he was needed elsewhere, at his Emperor's side. Taking his eyes off the macabre remnants, he advanced further into the city. More destruction, more death greeted him at every corner. But at the same time, he found himself mildly impressed by the little architecture that was still standing. Although certainly old, it had a classical, hard-edged aesthetic to it that was certainly very human. Yet, as he was on the cusp of having his thoughts wander once more, as he had often found himself doing since he had arrived here, he picked something up.

A fleeting sensation, as if a minuscule, dying flame beside his soul, whispers of feeling transmitted from it to him. He snapped to full readiness immediately, massive Guardian Spear being swung off it's magnetic hanger on his back, poised into a striking stance in barely a second, as he scouted the area for any trickery that could reveal itself. He waited, every muscle taut, tense and prepared to strike with the brunt force of a Land Raider and the precision of a sniper rifle. But...nothing came. The sensation did not got away, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary beyond it. After a minute of being on edge, he decided it would be unwise to halt his progress on a single hunch, no mater how nagging it was. As he came to one of the crossroads however, he found himself feeling closer to the burning ember, somehow. It was only at this moment that he realized what the fire could mean.

Almost certainly because of his direct contact with it, he seemed to have some sort of fifth sense towards the Warp now, if it's presence earlier was any indication. Perhaps, just maybe, could he detect Warp signatures as well? He knew nearly every human being had presence in the Warp, so perhaps he could use to find survivors? As wariness became curiosity and curiosity hope, he found himself drawing closer to the source of the shrinking presence, taking the path which led him to it. Along the way, more ruin and rot greeted him, but he could not focus on them right now. At last, arriving at a plaza, he felt the spark burn brightest here. But beyond the vague feeling that it was there, nothing else could be discerned about it. Scouring the place, wreckage and rubble obstructed potential hiding spots. He supposed he would just have to move everything out of the way and hope that in the process the spark could be uncovered.

Setting his spear beside him, always making sure to keep it within 3 meters of himself, he set to work on moving the larger chunks out of the way. Indistinguishable pieces of debris undoubtedly in the tens of tonnes at least were thrown about easily by the Custodian's strength. Nothing to be found, not even a trace or scrap of human existence. And the ember was burning out quickly. He began to grow concerned, until...

One particularly massive piece, hard to lift even for Kronos, gave way to reveal a figure. Still breathing, still living. Kronos rushed to their aid, removing any left over debris, picking them up in his arms. _Female, mid-to-late twenties, black hair. Fair skin, est. height 1.7 meters. Armor corresponding to previous Army-like force._ Taking a look slightly downward, he found the reason why the spark was burning out. _Legs crushed to a pulp. Heavy internal and external bleeding. No chance of treatment or replacement with current capabilities. Finis Rerum recommended._

These thoughts were automated, robotic, as was the case when encountering any generic situation. Kronos' conscious mind however, recommended a different course of action. He had first and foremost, a duty to allow her to decide for herself. And secondly, he required information about his current whereabouts. All Custodian suits came equipped with stimulative drugs, for only the most dire battles. As he popped a small compartment open with one hand, firmly holding the woman up with the other, he figured that a smaller, controlled dosage would be safe for regular human consumption as well, both awakening her from her trauma-induced slumber and or possible coma, while simultaneously numbing the pain, preventing her from being reduced to crying, screaming mess incapable of speech the second she was woken.

Setting his rescue down for a moment, he examined the vial, popping it open.. A whole gulp was designed to send even his already robust system into overdrive, so it was all she could possibly take. As gently as possible, he opened her mouth and dripped the few drops of the precious liquid directly into her throat. Given that she could still breathe, albeit barely, he was hoping she would not choke accidentally. Minutes passed. The air became tense, as nothing could be sensed in the spark. And just as he was beginning to lose hope, he detected twitching. Movement. Voluntary. Impossible for unconscious and/or comatose humans.

Slowly but surely, she began rousing. Her breathing became more ragged, as her body's oxygen requirements increased due to the drug. Realizing he should probably give her some space, he moved away from her, and removed his helm. When this woman came to, finding her legs crushed and her fate sealed, she didn't need to see an armored, stoic killing machine. She needed another human being, one that could appear sympathetic. As she opened her blue eyes, unwavering brown orbs stared back at her, distant, yet seemingly with good intentions. She could only gasp when she took note of the rest of his body, an armored giant clad in a mighty, golden warsuit. It couldn't possibly be one of _them_. She had only heard of them in vague whispers, spoken of in reverence second only to the God-Emperor they guarded. And yet...

"Hello, madam. I am Kronos Praesul, of the 41st Shield-Company of the Legio Custodes," The impossible always seemed to be bent to it's logical limits whenever a child of the Emperor was involved. "And your designation is?"

"Um, Sophine. Sophine B-Berner, 456th Atropha Trooper re-" she suddenly spat out blood. He had less time than he thought. "M-my legs. They're..."

"Irreversibly damaged, I'm afraid. Replaceable with cybernetics or prosthetics, but I have not the capacity for such operation, nor the ability to treat you at this time. I am sorry to say, Miss Sophine, but you are most certainly going to die here."

She was silent for a short while after that, staring at some fixed point in front of her. When she raised her head again, a solemn determined look grazed her features, as she sighed. "Damn it. I suppose it's what I signed up for. I was hoping for something a bit more glorious than bleeding out, but I guess one can't be picky about how they die."

"You seem strangely calm despite the situation," Kronos reminded himself that she was running on borrowed time, and conversing for more than necessary would be inadvisable.

"I suppose worrying about death never really...stuck with me. Most of my family though I would die at 3," she coughed again, more blood coming on. He could see her getting woozy. The amount of stimulant in her system mattered little when the fluid spreading it was running out. "It doesn't even hurt much to be honest."

"That is a special drug I have administered. Without it, you would be comatose. And in extreme pain."

"O-oh. How long do I have?"

"Minutes, if I could hazard a guess," It was time to get his questions out of the way, before it was too late. "Miss, I must ask you a few questions about our current location and the state of affairs here. Consider it as your last service of sorts to the Imperium."

"A-anything, my lord."

"What planet am I on? What is going on? Why is the city in ruin?"

"Sors, my lord. The planet was just one another Civilized World until the-the..."

She began falling back. The Custodian rushed to her aid. _Damn it, I'm out of time._

"Until what, Sophine?"

Visibly struggling to breathe now, she could barely get out a whisper. "U-until the-e In-ci-dent..."

The drug was wearing it out, and so was her body. But she would likely experience an enormous amount of pain before she was gone. "I will now administer Finis Rerum. Are you okay with such?"

The look she gave him was confused at first, but after several seconds, on the verge of tears from the pain, she gave her last message: a nod.

Reaching into his belt, Kronos pulled out his Misericordia. A weapon specifically designed for executions as well as marking the Custodes superiority over all Imperial law save the Emperor himself, the woman held onto Kronos as he approached. A flash of fear was seen on her eyes, but the Custodian gave a reaffirming nod. It would be painless compared to what she was going through.

He held the blade in front of the heart. He did no desire to deface her, so that would have to do. The death would be slower than he'd like, but still faster and less painful than if he'd simply let her be. With a hard thrust, Kronos plunged the blade into her heart before pulling it back again. It was a mere minute or so before the light bled out from her eyes entirely, almost the same time as the last of the blood dripped away.

Her face was unreadable, but Kronos chose to believe it was neutral, and therefore accepting.

* * *

The grave was shallow. Rudimentary, with nothing but a fragment of a basalt building foundation to mark it. Her name was engraved in it in, scribbled slightly roughly due to him carving it out with his Spear. The thought of simply using his own armored fingers to achieve a more elegant result had escaped him at the time, and now it hardly mattered.

_Sophine Berner._ He had not had the time to ever inspect the woman beyond the extremely short lived conversation they had had. But from what he could gather, she had been a defiant combatant to the bitter end, if her entombment in the pile of rubble, her subsequent brief survival of said entombment and her fearless attitude towards her own death were anything to go by. As such, he felt confident in giving a final salute. Giving the Imperial Aquila, he stood so for a minute. It was a small gesture, one that a part of his mind judged idiotic, in that no one was there to witness it. Yet something spurred him on, and as he left the grave site to attend to other more pressing matters, he was still conflicted within himself. But only just.

His doubts had to be cast aside for the foreseeable future, as the encounter had not yielded him with any respite, nor any solution to his previous problems. He still had no idea where exactly he was, he had no clue as to what had happened to the planet outside of his own observations and he still didn't have any access to sustenance. The chance meeting had distracted him from his previous parched state for a while, but now it was back in full swing as he felt a burning itch clawing at his throat, a desperate cry from his body to supply it with it's essentials.

But he had been built from the ground up to defy his own biology with sheer willpower. It would have to wait. Now that one had been found, the notion of other survivors was entirely plausible, if not probable. They could harbor supplies, shelter, communication. They could also be entirely hostile Chaos worshipers or deserters for all he knew, but did that truly matter? If a bunch of normal humans were to raise arms against a Custodian, then so be it. He would achieve what he wanted, whether through diplomacy or force, all that was important was actually finding some of said survivors. To do that, he would need to search the entirety of the city, as expansive as it was, down to the last millimeter. Ignoring any protest his mind or body might raise for rest and recovery if need be.

Putting his helmet back on, he set forth on his task. Checking everywhere easily accessible first seemed like the optimal idea. Sophine couldn't have been under that collapsed building for a long amount of time, her wounds were simply too severe for her to remain alive for any significant period, meaning that a military force had to have been dispatched here around or after the time he had arrived, which would also explain the recent burning of the city and the freshly spilled carnage he had encountered. The entire invading Imperial force couldn't have been wiped out. Or, at the very least, that's what he hoped. Of course, the traitor argument still existed, and it was entirely plausible he had honored a traitor with.

_No. That woman was no traitor._ Kronos was not the best judge of character. As a Custodian, it was something cultivated into him, as the Emperor's bodyguards needed also to be his eyes and ears, but other people, even his own brethren, were not his forte. But there was something he had seen in that woman, the resolve in her eyes, that convinced him she wouldn't betray the Imperium in a thousand years. However, it did not hold much importance in the long run, traitor or not, where there would be survivors, there would be the means to replenish himself and getting off this planet.

The few streets that still retained labels were marked in a language he did not recognize. The planet name, Sors, was also one not present either in his suits database, or his own memory. An Imperial world only recently brought into compliance perhaps? Then again, it's not like he possessed knowledge of every single Imperial world in existence. That was quite frankly impossible, even for his superhuman mind. So perhaps it was just another world out of thousands, one entirely random save for "the incident" Sophine had mentioned with her dying breath.

_Side note: Stop musing to myself so much. Would have probably gotten far more done were that not a factor. _Ignoring the irony of once again musing to himself with this mental statement, he decided to continue down one of the streets and see where he ended up after that. He didn't exactly have much choice but to randomly choose. Picking one on the right, he strode through more ruined buildings and piles of rubble, though the absence of corpses was at least a small relief. Eventually, he came upon an arch, an impressively large white marble construct delicately engraved with flowers. It led to a sprawling expanse, a city center most likely, filled with exquisitely crafted sculpture, of those that had not been blown to bits.

An art center perhaps? Or merely a city park? It mattered little as he surveyed the area, mapping out key buildings that could potentially harbor forces that had decided to bunker down and wait for reinforcements that would likely not come in time. Yet, all buildings nearby seemed to be compromised, burning wrecks. He could not understand what force was so terrible as to cause most likely an Imperial force to commit such wholesale destruction upon the city.

As he maneuvered through the center however, a nagging feeling began building in the back of his mind. He was being watched. Kronos could not confirm this, but he knew it was there, a preternatural precognition of something to come. But surely if any other humans were in the vicinity he would feel it as he had Sophine, right? He decided to keep moving. There was no time to waste on false flags his mind may be raising. He would simply have to keep an eye on his back at all times. He proceed through another street, similarly adorned with another arch, one of a masterfully crafted but distinct design. This street was narrower, and even with the heavy ordnance and promethium wounds of the rest of the city, could easily be set apart as some sort of slum. Derelict buildings littered it, squalor and filth "shone" through even the blasted heath that it was. Tactical positions were even less plentiful here, but one thing he found to increased: his sense of wariness.

As he moved through the ruined neighborhood, his senses were on edge. He stopped in his tracks, Spear settled to his side. He still couldn't see anything of note, he still could not hear any living breath, and even his newfound Warp sense betrayed nothing, yet that nagging itch in the back of his skull was still there. He knew he couldn't stay in the same place, it would accomplish nothing, but at the same time he could be leaving himself wide open for an attack.

And so he stood still, immobile, knowingly committing one of the biggest tactical blunders one could hope to make, all in his indecisiveness. That is, until an idea spiked. Being on the ground was the worst possible choice if that presence was indeed something more than his half-crazed, Warp-damaged, dehydrated mind. So, he'd simply have to take to the rooftops, and that's exactly what he set out to do. Storing the Guardian Spear on his back, he looked for a chain of buildings that was stable enough, before digging his armored fist onto the wall. As he pulled himself up, his right foot took place in the established hole, as he made another one for his left arm and subsequently, foot.

Right, left, right, left, all the way to the top. He could've simply launched himself, it was after all a short for one such as himself, but that would just be giving out his position to any potential enemies. Speaking of which, the sensation had not yet amended itself. But at least here he was far less likely to be caught off guard and without cover, unlike being in the middle of a demolished street.

As he surveyed the area, looking for any potential flanking routes, ways to maneuver around the ruined canopy of buildings and scouting any other possible shelters that could've been repurposed as such by any civilian or military groups, he felt something else: the now familiar spark of a dim flame in the back of his mind. It moved back into the emptiness of air as soon as it appeared, but now he had confirmation, he was indeed being watched. By whom, or perhaps what, he did not know yet. The extra sense only seemed to give off the presence of another sentient being to him, providing little else in terms of information. He turned his head in the vague direction where he had felt the sensation at it's strongest. _I suppose I will simply have to investigate far more...directly._

He scuttled behind a large access door that looked much like a shed, hiding his full bulk from the building where he suspected his stalker was viewing him from. Triangulating position based off a vague metaphysical sense that he still had little understanding over was...hard. But said building was the best suspect, as it provided a vantage point to follow down the streets and on the rooftops as well. Using his temporary cover, he dashed to edge of the building, making sure to remain within the cover of the shed. As he reached it, he threw himself over the edge, using his armored fingers to get a crushing grip on the concrete, before sliding down the side of the building.

The matter of getting down unnoticed seemed to have gone smoothly. Now it was just a matter of getting to the building he suspected his stalker would be surveying. He surely would not stick around without a target and would change position soon enough. But simply running at a potential threat was an idiotic choice that could very well end in them running away the second they spotted him. In the still remaining infrastructure, they would still possess the home field advantage, and could potentially slip through. So the only way to go about it was making himself as undetectable as possible.

Shining gold plated armor did not leave much in the way of camouflage options. Thankfully for him, much of it while not dulled, was already stained by the enormous amount of dust present in the general atmosphere thanks to the numerous collapsed building, burning wrecks and the location of the city itself, smack dab in the middle of a massive desert. Taking this to his advantage, the Custodian laid on the ground, covering himself in as much dirt as possible, and began inching away at his target.

Slow enough not to provoke a response from most human eyes centered there, but fast enough to not run out of time should his potential benefactor/target decided to change position. After what seemed like an eternity he made it to the foot of the building where he had suspected said unknown individual to be, and sure enough, his new Warp sense practically blared into his skull. He carefully raised himself to his feet, as he got prepared himself for a jump. They would hardly be expecting an ambush at this point. Or maybe they were, but he frankly didn't care. He was tired of sneaking around.

Tensing his legs, he launched himself a good 10 meters into the air, before landing on the roof with a heavy thud, concrete cracking underneath hundreds of kilograms of bone, muscle and armor. His arrival was greeted by a shrill scream and a dry _crack_. Kronos saw the projectile heading towards him, practically in slow motion. But he decided to ignore it. Judging by the make, it would bounce off his armor anyway. And so it did, a metallic _clang _being felt somewhere around his midsection. _Probably didn't even scratch the paint._

His assailer was not the least bit more impressive. Short, thinly built, wearing an oversized Army helmet and a drab uniform, an unimpressive low caliber shotgun pointed straight at his face now. _Wait..._

"STAY THE HELL BACK!"

That confirmed it. A child. Likely a girl. How she had survived this long, however much "this long" was, he did not care to know right now. Chances were that she had everything he needed at the moment, save possibly the communication given that she was still stuck here. The Custodian made an effort to appear less threatening. He stored his Spear on his back, and slackened his posture. She kept her shotgun pointed at him. He exhaled mentally. If people were not his forte, kids were an especially bad case. An extremely awkward silence was his only companion in his own ineptitude. Hesitantly taking a step forward, he was not surprised by what followed:

"I SAID STAY AWAY ASSHOLE!" The grip on the shotgun tightened.

_Good grief, who was responsible for educating this child? _He supposed the response was to be expected, no one could survive in these conditions without being cautiously paranoid to some degree, especially if there were other survivors. Reaching for his helm, he quickly undid the locking mechanism. He supposed he would have to make himself seem vulnerable to appease her. Not that such a low caliber gun could even pierce his skin, but nonetheless:

"I mean you no harm, child."

"HA, I've heard that one before. You think I'd survive this long if I trusted every random dickhead that decided to try the nice approach?" he did not appreciate being called that, but at the very least the child's posture seemed to be exuding less open hostility and stress. "Who are you anyway? You're definitely not part of the Guard, and you look too much like a banana to be a Space Marine."

"I would appreciate it if you did not continue with the nicknames."

"I'm the one holding the gun here, Mr. Banana Head. Now answer the damn question."

Kronos frowned. This child was beginning to anger him. Yet, he supposed he had no other choice. "I am Kronos Praesul, Guardsman of the 41st Shield-Company of the Legio Custodes."

Her entire tone shifted drastically at this. "As in...the Talons of the Emperor? Far as ma and pa told me, you guys are just a legend."

"Well, I can assure you little one that we are very much real, in case my existence here was not proof enough. Now, if you may tell me your name?"

"...Mira. Mira Ragt."

This child appeared to prefer some sort of higher respect. He had seen this archetype many times during his training on infiltration. Tomboyish, aloof, arrogant. The best choice he had right now was to stroke that ego ever so slightly to achieve what he wanted. He decided to extend his hand, a gesture of respect he wouldn't afford most other normal humans in any other circumstance. Reluctant at first, she at last decided to lower her gun, and approach him, shaking it feebly with her own.

"This don't mean we're friend though, got it Banana?"

"I believe I disclosed that you can refer to me as Kronos."

"Yeah, well that's stupid name. Anyway, since you had the courtesy," she removed her, likely, stolen Army helmet. Red hair, freckles, blue eyes, fair skin, young. No more than 13 years old he would wager. "Don't sneak up on me like that again though. Seriously, I will shoot you. How'd you even do that? You're like 9 feet tall."

"The Custodian program is...expansive in fields. Mira, if you may, can you take us back to your base of operations?"

"Wow, there. "Base of operations"? I'm not that good."

Children...really weren't his strong suit. "You realize what I meant."

"Yeah, I did. But you're far too sulky."

"I...do not wish to continue this argument. May you please take us there? I presume you have some resources left over, correct?"

"You better believe I do. I looted a fresh company just the other week, and I am packing with rations!"

Kronos frowned at the revelation. "You looted an entire company of corpses?"

The girl's bright cheery, exterior melted away in an instant, leaving a blank expression, as her eyes diverted to the floor. "It's...easier when you don't look at their faces."

Kronos nodded. Perhaps he was mistaken at first. This child had clearly been through hell, and the fact that she was still alive and retained a portion of her attitude spoke volumes about her mental strength.

"Anyway," she raised her eyes again, but her smile did not return. "The place where I'm staying at is not far from here. So, I guess we should go?"

He nodded. "Staying out in the open is not a good idea anyway."

He moved to the edge of the building, as Mira gave him an inquisitive look.

"What are you doing?"

He grabbed onto the ledge, swinging himself mid-air to be grasping on the outer wall.

"Getting us off this building. Come?"

"Are you crazy?!"

"I can easily carry you. I will not descend quickly enough to cause you to slip off," he extended his hand. "Trust me."

Wary at first, the little girl slowly approached the armored hand, gently taking it as she climbed up on his back.

"You better be right about this, Banana Man."

Kronos might've slid down to the ground a bit faster than he ought've for that nickname. As he crouched to let his new companion hop off, her face betrayed nothing, but her eyes said fear. He allowed himself the tiniest of smirks. But any semblance of humor was lost on both of them as he followed her to the presumed hideout. As they walked, Kronos was reminded about one important thing he had yet to acquire.

"Mira, what exactly happened here? Why is the city in ruin? Why are you on your own?"

Mira became obviously uncomfortable at these questions.

* * *

**Author's notes: **FUCKHUEG chapter for you chaps because I just hate/love you that much (depends on your opinion of the fic really). Kronos finally makes some friends, ye. Although, he's still not very good at you know, having actual human talk and all. He'll get better, probably. Or maybe he won't and die a horrible death. Who knows? This fic is about as predictable as Tzeentch, but only when it comes to it's update schedule.

As always, I am not teh expert on Battlemace 40 Million, so feel free to correct me. On that note, reviews are very much appreciated and please you guys, it's been 84 years, I **need **my ego destroyed by mean comments, so go do that.

Anyway, that's kinda it for this chapter. I'm just glad to have it done, because this is way longer than what I usually put out. This is your resident boner joker signing off.

9/4/2019 update: Fixed a few things, and made the structure a bit less unwieldy.


	5. Soldier

Check the bottom of the chapter for notes.

* * *

"Sors wasn't always a blasted shithole you know. It was actually a nice enough place for most of my life. Still nothing much, but we've heard way worse from most other worlds. That was until about 3 weeks ago, until..." Her reluctance to share had not eased in the slightest, he noted.

"Until what?"

"Until...what the wall of guns calls the Incident."

"Wall of guns?"

She gave him a look. "Imperial Guard. You know, I can't exactly tell you about it if you keep interrupting me."

Kronos exhaled to himself. He was being bossed around by a child. But nonetheless, he needed cooperation, and he was hardly one to get it by extreme means. The child's lack of tact and bravery had to be commended at least. "Very well, I shall reserve my questions for later. You may continue."

"Good," a small, cocky smile graced her lips, but only for the briefest of moments, as she went back to recounting the grim events. "Far as I know, a bunch of psycho cultist nutjobs had apparently taken over the government from the inside-out. And three weeks ago they...did **something**. I still don't know what. But it made the wall of guns batshit angry. So they stormed the planet."

Kronos saw as the girl's tone became increasingly uneasy while telling her tale. Something certainly had happened to her. Exactly what he would simply inquire about later, though he doubted he'd get a straight answer.

"They got slaughtered, somehow. Last I heard from their vox-comms they're waiting for a **big** fleet to retake the system," she paused for a moment. "And that's basically all I know."

"May I ask my questions now?" Kronos's thirst for knowledge was hardly satisfied, and he was not exactly in the mood to be courteous, but showing his displeasure through outward hostility would be a stupid choice. This child was his only guide on this planet, and fostering trust between them was crucial.

"Sure, whatever, go ahead."

"In what Segmentum are we located? Where exactly is this planet?"

"Uuuuuh," she scrunched he facial features. Kronos once again cursed his luck. "They don't tell the local populace anything beyond that we're in the Segmentum Obscurus. But I've heard from the Guards that we're part of a Sector called Victoria, Sub-sector Riptide. Both dumb names if you ask me."

Well, that alleviated some of his concerns. But it only raised new ones. He had never heard of this Sector before, but then again, that could just be attributed to Imperial expansion or shifting designations. Even they could not hope to comprehend the sheer amount of space the Imperium possessed. Though, that did raise another question:

"How did you manage to access the vox-comm of this Imperial Guard?"

Mira's face immediately became hard as steel. Her eyes were cast to the floor again, and he was sure she'd rather have yelled at him again. But...she did not.

"Two guards I saw a while back," her voice was shaky, her expression unreadable, as her eyes stared into the ground as if wanting to pierce the very core of the planet. But she did not yield. "Have you ever seen two men so hungry they're fighting on who's going to eat the other?"

He suspected he did not need to answer that.

"Yeah, well I have. Thankfully, they stopped when they saw me," her expression was unreadable. But her voice was not. It was cracking. "In other words, what looked like an easier meal."

Kronos could not muster anything more than a silent nod.

"I shot both of them before they had the chance to get near me. Idiots had even lost their damn Lasguns. But that fucking look on the both of them..."

"You may stop speaking about that particular subject if it is uncomfortable for you."

She gave a grunt of acceptance. Her expression lightened, but only by a little. "They had a vox-caster there. It worked for all of 5 minutes, before the battery went dead. I screamed at it a bunch before that happened. Obviously, nobody was listening. Otherwise, someone would've come for...those guys. But the broadcast from the other side went through just fine. And that's how I got some info on what the Hell was happening."

They walked in silence for some time, Kronos' curiosity satiated for now if only because of the awkward situation.

"It wasn't even the first time I killed someone. It wouldn't be the last either," he looked at her. She was holding herself. But the minuscule tears were all too visible to his keen eyes.

Kronos did not know how to respond to that. So he let the silence descend upon them once more, as their advance was steady, but mired in tension. In that moment, something had changed in his mind. The girl in front of him was not merely an annoying brat with some sense of survival, as he had pined her down for. She was a child soldier, one forged in the fires of whatever Hell had been unleashed upon this world, and clearly showing for it.

* * *

The walk was long. Arduous even, for a normal human. But he did not care. The crashing tides of exhaustion had rusted his core for this long. But he would not yield, not now. He turned his head to the child. Killer. Survivor. Savior. They too were beset by tiredness, and just like him, they refused to show any sign of weakness.

"We're here."

The sudden break from the monotonous sound of their footsteps jumpstarted his systems. The heat, the strain, his own inner turmoil. They had prevented him from seeing in front of himself, stuck on autopilot as his mind droned on with concerns about the Emperor, the Imperium and his brothers. So oblivious in fact, that he had failed to notice the virtual palace in front of him.

Quite certainly a noble home, it was a thing of perverse beauty. Large, dominating over the horizon, removed from the rest of the city, and yet possessing of it's own magnificent garden staving off the presence of the desert, it was clad in marble and precious metals. But, it's grandeur did not deter from it's corruption. If anything, it enhanced it. Blood was present even here, and a light layer of dust, rust and ruin had settled on the building. Broken windows, dried decorative plants, dried up soil, all served to enhance the unease of the place. But at this point, Kronos did not care. As long as it was not literally filled with hostiles, any resting place would do.

"This...is your home?"

She gave off a hoarse laugh. "Hardly. This is just the least shithole place I managed to find after the whole Incident thing. Belonged to a family of wealthy fucks that got screwed over hard when the population fell into anarchy. Turns out all that political power and money don't mean jack when everybody's going crazy."

"How have you survived here?"

"Scavenging off nooks and crannies, covering my tracks, never staying up too late like a good little girl. Oh, and I sleep with my gun."

Kronos furrowed his brow. "That does not sound safe."

"Safer than being without it."

He sighed, again. He'd found himself doing that a lot lately. "Can we go inside?"

"Course, ya goof."

Mira rushed forward through the dead garden, seemingly used to the gloomy exterior. She stopped in front of the large, ornate door, digging for something in her pockets before producing a key. The massive door was moved with some effort, as a thin cloud of dust rose from the ground, as if it hadn't been opened for decades. Turning around, crossing her arms and legs while leaning on the door, a hint of he cockiness returned, but it was far tempered by the difficult trip:

"Well, come on in. It's not gonna bite ya."

Kronos had not the mental training to retort to such. "Is there a room where I may cleanse myself and my equipment?"

"Duh. There's like a million rooms in this bastard. I've been here for a week and I still haven't looked everywhere. Just pick one and do whatcha gotta do."

"Duly noted," Kronos was suddenly reminded of another need as his mouth felt rougher than the desert they had been walking in. "And as for food and water?"

"I'll get them to ya. I got enough laying around to last a while."

Kronos' eyes widened just the slightest bit in surprise. "You...would do that?"

"Don't get any ideas Banana Man, I'm keeping you around cause you're a good killing machine. Oh, and the whole reason I brought you here with no fuss is cause of that helmet being off. If I noticed any fishy business, I would've shot you."

Ah, but of course. It made sense, but he nonetheless could not help but feel as if that was not entirely true. Replying with a final nod, he passed through the door, not awaiting a response. His lumbering height made it difficult to navigate, despite the house being admittedly very spacious, while the sheer weight of himself and his armor made the wood floor creak uncomfortably.

He scouted the hall he was traveling down. He had no knowledge of the architectural design tendencies of buildings on this planet, so he simply decided to settle on the largest door he could find, which was located at the end of the hall. Swinging the gate open, he came upon a large room, thankfully. Likely designed for recreational activity, if the massive tubs in it were any indication. Perhaps a communal bath, or more likely, a spa?

Regardless, Kronos did not care. The Custodian set his Spear aside, hanging it on a conveniently placed shelf of marble jutting from the wall. With that, he set about the monumental task of removing his armor. He needed to check for damages his system report had missed, repair the ones already sustained and, reluctantly, search himself for any Warp mutations or afflictions. Hydraulic locks and joints clicked and clacked as they were released, pieces being carefully set aside.

Each Custodian Armor set was a precious relic, a magnificent sculpture of death and war crafted by the most brilliant engineers and artisans in the Imperium. Each a unique piece of art never to be replicated, much like their wielders. With careful handling, each was projected to last a thousand years. Kronos was not about to treat it like a toy, despite it being designed for far more pressuring experiences.

Setting the last piece down and stepping off his armored boots, Kronos was left in a tight-fitting body glove. He really wished the owners would have installed a mirror there, but from a quick glance he could see that nothing was wrong with him...physically speaking that was. His new Warp sense was more than a little concerning, given the fact that one of the hallmarks of Chaotic favor was additional abilities.

But alas, he would have to consult with a specialized psyker on the matter, and he suspected this world had none to spare. On the bright side, his musculature had not atrophied in he slightest despite the undoubtedly substantial amount of time spent in a passive state. _Well, if metaphysical torture could be considered "passive"._

Kronos then inspected every individual piece of his armor. Every Custodian was taught basic upkeep and repairing procedures, thought the more intricate components of course needed their own specialized Tech-priest. Thankfully, aside from the more advanced environmental control features, the armored suit seemed to be in perfect working condition, if not looking a little worse for wear with all the dirt and sand clinging to it, dulling it's golden color. The noticeable scratch delivered by his fateful encounter with the Herald long ago was also still there. But nonetheless, should battle come, and he knew it would, it would at least not spontaneously fall apart.

His duties done, Kronos at last allowed himself to relax, picking a spot of marble that at the very least looked soft to sit down. All the exhaustion, the hunger and the thirst crashed into him like a battleship. He had been awake for so long, wandered the unforgiving wastes for hours and only now did he allow himself a single moment of respite. His tired mind was currently fighting a war against the rest of his body, arguing which need was to be satiated first.

But instead of giving into his ravenous state, Kronos decided to relax by entering meditation. A basic procedure that all Custodians were taught to conserve energy and lighten the nerves, aided by by their enhanced physiology, hardly needing of any rest at all.

But although he tried to calm his mind, now without a set goal for some time, he was preyed by his own doubts. What had happened to the Emperor during his leave? What about the Imperium at large? And as of the traitors? He knew that Horus was dead, the Emperor had vanquished him to a plane beyond even the Chaos Gods' ability to bring back, but that did not ensure the death of his Legion, the other Chaos Legions or their Primarchs.

And of course, his mind could not help but wander to the horrible tortures that he had been subjected to. Tortures that would have driven most men mad, and nearly did so to him as well. Traumatizing memories that played as fresh as the day they were inflicted upon him. His desire to end it all, his absolute despair. The lowest of lows. He could barely hold back from hitting something in rage.

His thoughts were however, perhaps mercifully, interrupted by a knocking on his door. Snapping to full alertness, he jumped to his feet, only to remember that there was no other resident in the house besides his ally. He sighed. The Warp and the War in the Webway had certainly done wonders for his paranoia.

"You may enter."

He noted that Mira had switched to more casual wear from her drab uniform. But he also noted that she did keep her shotgun strapped to her belt. Perhaps he was not the paranoid one after all? Other than that, the outfit was far more loose and civilian. A baggy green shirt, khaki pants and...

"You are barefoot?"

"Huh?" that seemed to have caught her off guard, though she also was noticeably surprised the second she walked into the room. "Oh, yeah, I just don't like wearing any shoes or socks when I don't need to."

"Disregarding basic clothing is ill-advised in combat scenarios."

She humphed, looking like she wanted to say something, but chose against it. A beat passed.

"What is that on you?"

Kronos stood speechless for a few seconds before realizing what she meant. "A body glove. It helps us interface with our armors, converts it into a second skin analogue."

"Uh, okay," the girl diverted her eyes to the floor. She still seemed troubled by something.

"Is there something wrong?"

"Uh, well..." she shuffled her feet. "I just always thought you guys...uh, were just regular folks inside the armor. You know, as if it was just a mechanized walker. I didn't expect...**this**."

This? Was there something wrong with him? "Elaborate."

She gave him a look. "Are you serious right now?"

"Yes. May you tell me why I look aberrant to you?"

"Well, you're...like an 8 and a half foot tall monster for Emperor's sake. I didn't expect that!"

Kronos furrowed his brow. "I see."

A moment of awkward silence fell for an instant, before Mira spoke again:

"Anyway, I brought you some food and water," she immediately produced a makeshift bottle and an emergency ration bar from somewhere. Kronos gladly accepted the gifts as she threw them, catching them effortlessly. He consumed the bar handed to him near instantly. It tasted practically like plastic, and he would bet a fortune it was manufactured with about as much care, but it would reenergize him. It was something, and therefore was better than nothing. He also made quick work of the bottle, draining away it's content as he could feel his biology stabilize itself.

"Jeez, you must've been on the brink of death, going through those that quick. How long have you been without a proper snack or drink?"

"That...would be difficult to ascertain. But, you could help by telling me the current galactic date."

"Last I checked, it was the year 998 of the 41st millennium, in the standard Imperial date at least."

A beat.

"Mira," He addressed her by name. This already creeped her out. "Did you say 41st millennium?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Did you not mean 31st?"

"No. It's 41st. I'm 100% sure of it," She gave him another look. "How can you mistake the freaking millennia? Year, I get, but seriously?"

His expression had become unreadable. He was staring at the ground, and she could swear he was shaking. "Mira...please...leave."

"What do you mean?" She was growing worried now. "Is there something wrong with-"

"**Leave. Now.**"

He might've said it, but she knew there was no request in his voice. As much as she wasn't as scared of him as any normal reasonable person would be, she knew that arguing would likely not end well. So she did, closing the doors behind her. A second or two later, a massive crash was heard throughout the walls of the building, practically rocking it to it's core. It was the first time in a long time that she'd felt terrified.

* * *

The hit had cracked the wall. His bare knuckles had been scratched. He did not care. He hit the wall again. The spider web of cracks grew larger. And he hit again. And again. And again.

And again.

The wall shattered, spilling it's makeup onto another room. His fist was bleeding, but once more, he did not care. Some tiny part of him wished his troubles would go away as the wall had. Spill out of him as his blood did. They did not.

Betrayal, guilt, anguish, rage, sadness, fear, insanity. All these emotions were raging a battle upon his mind, and none seemed to be winning definitively. His body was stuck now, a machine with no master, unable to do anything except wait out the inferno within.

But increasingly, a feeling spread out among the wartorn battlegrounds of his psyche, blotting out most others with it's sheer presence: the desire to simply let loose. Leave everything behind, rage like a wild animal destroying all in his path. Forsake the Emperor, forsake the Imperium, forsake everything that he had ever held dear.

It was an insidious freedom, but it was freedom nonetheless. Freedom from caring, freedom from anguish, and from his torment. It was a poison, but to his lips it tasted oh so sweet. And for a few moments, he did revel in that sweet, noxious, all-consuming poison. Until he didn't. In that fleeting moment, trapped between sanity and insanity, something sparked within him, a clarity. Starting as a small ember, but eventually growing greater, swallowing the venom, using it as fuel, his mind was cleared.

He was of the Legio Custodes, the greatest among humanity's champions. The Emperor's Talon, the sundering of his enemies. He was genetically grafted and engineered as a mere babe into a practical demigod of death. He was not designed to fall to the follies of lesser men. His Emperor, his gene-sire, had a plan for him, and that was all that mattered. The thousands of years, they were a tragic loss of touch for him, maddening even, but he could not allow himself to falter now, when his Master needed him most.

So he locked his emotions, all his doubts and worries deep within his heart, as he had been taught to so long ago, and soldiered on. There would be time for mourning, for him to question himself and the state of affairs in the current Imperium, but that would have to wait. His journey to Terra came first and foremost.

"For the Emperor. For mankind," his voice was barely more than a whisper as he went to don his armor once more.

* * *

Mira was beginning to worry.

Of course, it wasn't exactly easy to not worry when a giant superhuman was pissed off for seemingly no reason, but what was more troubling was that any noise from the room had stopped. She had heard a few loud hits after she had left, but now...nothing. She instinctively gripped the gun on her belt. After all, she didn't know this guy that well, and she didn't know what he was capable of. Even though she doubted her gun would be able to even scratch his armor, he hardly seemed reasonable enough at the moment to even think about putting it on.

Thinking this, she was startled immediately when the doors to his temporary quarters swung open. She brought her shotgun into firing position, only to see the lumbering golden giant she had grown familiar with emerge. But she was only scared for the slightest of moments, as she noticed his stance was normal, and so was his walking. Whatever had happened seemed to be over now, thankfully.

"What the Hell was that?"

"I...cannot explain at this current time."

"I mean, getting mad over the freaking date? Or, Hell, not even knowing said date?"

"Mira, **please**, drop it," his voice was unwavering, a condensed beam of resolve, but even to her there was something wrong with it. "Discussing what happened back there is not something that I am comfortable with, nor capable of, at this current time. I must regretfully ask you to stop inquiring me about it for the foreseeable future."

Mira gave it a thought. On the one hand, she didn't like to be bossed around, even if her companion had possibly every right in the Imperium to do so based on legends she'd heard. On the other, he seemed very adamant on where he stood, so maybe it wasn't a good idea to push him further.

"Sure, fine, whatever. But I have a few questions of my own."

He raised his hand. "Not now. For being my beneficiary, I will make sure to answer them in due time, but swiftness is of the upmost importance at this moment. I must ask you of one last favor: I need to get off this planet."

Mira was not amused. "And what makes you think I'd help you with that assuming I even know how to?"

"I can offer you a lot," he could, once again, not believe he was bargaining with a child. But she had been surviving on this planet for three weeks all on her lonesome now, and likely grew up on it her entire life. She was an invaluable strategic asset. "There are very few things a Custodian cannot acquire."

"And what ensures me you're not just gonna turn tail the second you get off this rock, assuming you can even do that?"

"You...tire me, child. A Custodian's honor is of greater importance than his blood, and I would die before spilling it. Yours would be a deal of honor, a debt that would graft itself into my soul. My word on this is the closest to absolute you can get. Now I say again, will you help me?"

Silence. She seemed to be pondering over the idea. He found it quite shameful that she would even need to, but in a very short while, she had her answer:

"Yes."

A simple affirmation. No sass, no witty remarks. Merely a gesture of acceptance, and an extended hand towards him to boot. He extended his own, rocking hers in gentle shake.

"You don't turn your back on me, got it?"

Kronos nodded as their hands disconnected. "Now might you inform me on how we can acquire a ship?"

"The only place I've ever seen ships leave and enter the planet is the capital. But last time I checked, that was nutball central. The cultists are pretty much entirely concentrated around there."

"Then it is time to move, unless you have more need to rest?"

"Wha-what, no, but...are you really expecting to siege the capital?"

"Excuse if I am unconvinced that a batch of cultists, particularly deranged and well-equipped as they may be, can prevent me from completing a simple infiltration job," he was now checking his Guardian Spear. "I would suggest you put on your former attire, along with storing some additional food and drink. I would prefer if we began immediately."

Mira wanted to debate him on that, but she supposed a promise was a promise. This also left her with something to think about after so long. As she went to her room to retrieve her uniform, she realized during the last few weeks she had never thought about the future. It was kind of hard to think outside of the present in the circumstances she was in after all. But now, at last, she had a possible lifeline outside of the hellhole her planet had become. But...what was she supposed to do with it? What favor could she even ask of the golden warrior? A ship? A home outside of her planet? Fortune to acquire either? ...Finding her parents?

She shook her head as she changed. Later, now was not the time. Besides, they hadn't even gotten to the capital yet. There was still quite a bit of chance they'd just die during the journey, but she was honestly sick of waiting around anyway. She put on her boots last, grabbing a few extra rations and more water as she walked back to the door, glancing at the room one last time. Who knew, with luck, this would be the last time she'd ever see it...one way or the other.

The golden warrior was waiting for her, staring out of the window intently. She faked a cough to get his attention.

"I see that you are ready."

"Yeah."

"Good. Please try to keep up."

"Keep up?" she scrunched her face in annoyance. "What do you mean "keep up", I was leading just fine last time."

"I was tired, malnourished and dehydrated when you found me. I am not so now," he strapped his Spear to the magnetic harness on his back. "The average walking pace of one such as I is around the peak speed of an average human."

"Oh. How the Hell am I supposed to follow you?"

"I will attempt to consciously slow down. Any distance between us will likely be beneficial anyway, as I am far more suited for scouting and threat disposal. You could at most provide cover fire while staying at a safe distance."

"...Fine."

Kronos nodded as he opened the main door. As they were making their way out of the ruined garden, the Custodian piped up again.

"Where to exactly?"

Mira slowed as she dug through her pockets, pulling out a rudimentary compass, checking it before pointing with her finger.

"South-East, that's where the capital should be from here."

Kronos nodded again, as their walk through the unforgiving dunes began once more. He was taking the lead already, spying out where the sand mounds gave way to the horizon. Nothing could be seen for miles around them. He supposed it would take hours, perhaps days to arrive at this capital city. There was only one option left. He had considered it, but was not particularly fond of actually implementing it. Yet, they needed to move faster.

"Change of plans," he muttered as he turned around to face his companion.

"What do you mean?"

"You are far too slow. It will take days for us to cross this expanse at such a rate," the Custodian extended his hand. "I will carry you."

Mira was, unsurprisingly, incredulous at his suggestion.

"Okay, I've said you're crazy a few times, but I'll reiterate: you're crazy," Kronos really was starting to doubt his own plan, not of it's own validity, but mostly of his temperamental partner. "Assuming I even let you carry me around like a goddamned ragdoll, you'll be slowed down anyway by my weight, negating the whole purpose of carrying me in the first place."

"Do you weigh over 3,000 kilograms?"

The girl seemed on the verge of popping a blood vessel. "OF COURSE NOT! Why would even ask that?! Are you actually retarded?"

"If you weigh less than that, then you will not impact my pace in the slightest."

Her anger deflated immediately, as she could give back a blank stare. "Did you just...make a joke?"

Kronos allowed himself a small smirk. "I may limit myself far more in ways of expression, but that does not mean I am socially inept. That being said, I ask again, will you let me carry you?"

Before Mira could interject in fumes again, he decided to attempt and show her the tactical necessity of this course of action. "The faster we arrive at this capital, the faster we can leave the planet, and the faster I can petition my fellow Custodes to answer my debt of honor to you. My sustainable speed is a little under 100 kilometers per hour. I think you can understand the difference it would make."

Mira opened and closed her mouth, clearly intending to come up with a retort, but finding none, she at least exhaled, very annoyed. "Fine, I'll sit on your back. If I fall off, I am going to shoot you in the face. And also, stop convincing me to do stupid things."

Kronos nodded. Hostile, but at least cooperative, and thankfully easily swayed by logical deduction, especially tied to her interests. Perhaps his companion could feasibly help him outside of simple directions after all.

Kronos crouched, allowing Mira to climb on his back, murmuring almost incomprehensibly what he could only assume to be curses, as she navigated a practical forest's worth of ornate, jutting protrusions engraved in his armor. Settling on his backpack at last, she seemed slightly uncomfortable.

"Oh, and no funny business, got it?" Kronos nodded once more, puzzled internally. He did not like the tone of that statement, nor the implications that came with it.

Companion secured to his back, Kronos launched himself into a sprint. A light activity for him, many automobiles had difficulty maintaining such speeds for extended periods of time. He could swear Mira muttered a string of curses whenever they hit a bump. He continued so for about 30 minutes judging from his suit's internal clock, before he saw something that caught his attention: a small glint in the sky.

Slowly, it grew closer, brighter. And louder. Perhaps a small meteor to the untrained eye, but his eyes were far more than trained. They were outright superhuman, and even through the haze of it's reentry cloak of fire, he could make out a shape. A shape that grew more recognizable the more it approached. A Drop Pod.

Roughly half a minute after he had first spotted it, it crashed several kilometers away with a small _pfap_, which at ground level would likely have a been a deafening shockwave of sheer noise. Mira only seemed to have taken notice of it mere moments before it touched the ground, be she too, seemed to be unsurprised.

"About fuUUUUUUUUUUUCK, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!" she kept screaming at him as he accelerated to at least three times his previous speed, making out more symbolism on his target as he got closer. Familiar yet unknown at the same time, there was one outstanding symbol that prevailed over all, deducing their identity for him: a single, large, lightning bolt.

* * *

**Author's notes: **Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeew, another long one. Took some time. And for all of you worried, yes, I will come back to Kronos' ANGST. I am not even close to done torturing the poor bastard. Oh, and yeah, say hello to Mira properly everyone; she's here to stay a while :P

That being said, I'll give anyone a cookie who guesses which SPEHS MEHREENS are gonna be in this (It's really not that hard, my cookie bank account is going to run dry. Big Sad).

iamnotenoughofasmellynerdtoknowwarhmmerperfectlygodoyourownresearchyoudumbfucksandmaybecorrectmeaswell

While you're doing that, why not drop a review? Drive audience engagement. Like, share and subscribe :D

Otherwise, this is your dead joke signing off again.


	6. Sons of Thunder

Check the bottom of the chapter for notes.

* * *

The air was still sizzling from the recent atmospheric impact, so Kronos kept his distance, mostly to protect his own companion than himself. Said companion was currently catching her breath and, from the look on her features, having a miniature panic attack.

"CAN YOU AT LEAST FUCKING WARN ME FIRST?!" she was certainly not happy, but he could not heed her right now. The Drop Pod before him could prove to be his early salvation, as the Space Marines would undoubtedly have access to necessary equipment to get him to Terra.

He recognized the symbol on it's side as belonging to the esteemed Legion of the White Scars. In the early days of Horus' rebellion, there was much doubt on whether the Khan and his sons were on either side of the conflict, only for their loyalty to be reaffirmed through their service in the defense of humanity against the dark threat.

Yet now, 10,000 years had passed. He was still...processing that. But his trained mind had become used to shoving all of his doubts into it's murky depths for the duration of a mission. However, this doubt was directly tied to said mission.

100 centuries was an extremely long time, even for Space Marines. Even Custodians were not projected to be able to live that long outside of a Dreadnought. The Legion could've been fundamentally changed, torn down, or perhaps even disbanded and reformed in those years. Any of those things could be true, or all of them could be true at once. So Kronos tempered his expectations and even slightly shifted his pose to better prepare for any potential combat. He knew nothing, so he couldn't rule out anything.

The hatches around the Drop Pod opened with a metallic hiss, a light layer of dust being raised into the air with their impact. The Astartes inside disengaged from their safety locks. Ten Brothers of the Legion of Mundus Planus. All equipped with a pattern of Power Armor; familiar, yet different, as many things seemed to be now. Their Sergeant was the first to step off the Pod proper, a mighty Power Fist on one arm and a pattern of Bolt Pistol on his other. Yet, this undoubtedly hardened warrior of possibly centuries of service stopped dead in his tracks as he saw Kronos.

In fact, all of them were now staring directly at the Custodian. A thick air of tension was now present, at least for Kronos, though from just the body language he could read off of, they did not seem so much hostile as unnerved and confused. Mira was presently still sitting on his back, though thankfully she seemed to understand the situation and kept quiet.

Kronos stepped forth, meeting the Sergeant, at arm's distance. Both warriors stared at each-other in silence for a few moments, red optic lenses meeting with similar kin. Then, the Custodian moved to remove his helmet, in an attempt to defuse the awkwardness of the situation. The Sergeant, likewise, removed his, and he saw a grizzled face, scars etched into the skin, eyes sharp like an eagle's, and a short ebony mustache showing hints of greying gracing his lips. Kronos at last cleared his throat, as he finally found his words:

"Greetings, most honorable sons of the Warhawk. Your presence has graced us to the upmost degree."

"It is my honor to meet you, Custodes. I would never think I would live to see the Emperor's own caretakers in the flesh, let alone one so humble as to take his helm off in front of me," his voice was gruff, deep and bleeding with years of experienced. In other words, a perfect match for his face. Kronos also noted he was rusty in bastardized Gothic as well, with an incredibly thick accent, but that was to be expected. "But, if I may ask, why are you here? **How **are you here?"

Kronos mulled over the question for a few moments. Revealing the full extent of his Warp imprisonment to a force meant to assist him in getting to the Imperial Palace was unwise. He himself had lingering doubts over his potential tainting, doubts that would be acted upon by any reasonable member of the Astartes. He would have to subject himself to a full evaluation, but the time was not now. His mission was yet of the greatest importance.

"That is a question I cannot answer fully at this very moment, Sergeant...?"

"Ganbaatar, of the Wild Riders tribe. And you, Custodes?"

"Kronos Praesul, Guardsman of the 41st Shield-Company," he at last extended his hand towards the Sergeant. The man met him after a second, his grip firm. "It is an honor to meet you, Ganbaatar."

"Likewise, Kronos of Terra. But my curiosity remains piqued. Your presence here is confusing to say the absolute least."

"I realize that you have questions that are entirely founded in reason, White Scar. But I truly am incapable of informing you at this moment, aside from the fact that me getting to the Throneworld is of the upmost importance."

"The Throneworld?" the Sergeant seemed even more confused now. "Custodian, are you not intended to guard there for all time? What circumstances led to you being here against your will?"

Kronos was in a tight spot now. He did not expect the Sergeant to be a fool, but nonetheless this could mess up his plans in the long run if he revealed the full extent of his unfortunate escapade. However, he would likely not be satiated with attempts to brush off the questions, and the last thing Kronos needed was to seed distrust in such a critical ally for him. So he decided a half-truth would have to do:

"An unfortunate Warp travel accident. That is all that I can disclose at this current time. However, during said exposure I was contacted by the Emperor himself and given a mission. One which as of yet I am unsure, but I know I must arrive at Terra posthaste."

"The Emperor Himself?" Ganbaatar was astounded, but the Custodian saw as his face shifted tone to a more concerned one. "Custodian...you said a Warp incident, correct?"

"Yes."

"If that is the case, than your vision of our Emperor, authentic as He may have been, could easily have been just a cheap trick by a foul Neverborn to tempt you on a path of destruction."

Kronos put up his armored palm up to halt the Sergeant. "An admirable and well-founded concern, White Scar. But I have been in the Emperor's presence. I have basked in his light, and I have served under him directly. I know what his essence, a force so great it eclipses suns, feels like and no foul daemonic perversion could ever hope to replicate it. My encounter was with the Emperor in the flesh, and none others. And it is because of this that I must journey to the Throneworld as quickly as possible."

Ganbaatar seemed to muse over the request, before sighing.

"Very well. You shall have the full support of the Sons of Chogoris in your endeavor," he gestured for his Brothers, still seemingly reluctant to approach the Custodian. "However, our mission takes priority. We cannot leave the planet without completing it."

"The dismantling of the cultist takeover, I presume?"

"Yes. You know of it?"

"I have an informant."

"Yello-w."

It was the first time Mira had decided to pipe up since they had met their benefactors, having now climbed down from his shoulders. While the Sergeant and his Brothers had undoubtedly noticed his companion, Kronos was still given inquiring looks.

"A survivor I picked up during my initial surveying of the city closest to here. She has been making all on her lonesome for nearly 3 weeks."

"So," one of the other Astartes, this one clearly younger than Ganbaatar, piped up. "You trust her then?"

"Hey! It's not nice to talk about people as if they're not he-"

Kronos raised his hand, a motion that signaled her to keep silent. Mira was furious, but at the very least, she seemed to appreciate the seriousness of the situation, and so obliged. The other Astartes' expressions he could not read, but Ganbaatar seemed amused. With that out of the way, he supposed he had not thought of it. Yes, she was a strong, competent child that had done what most people likely could not, but did he truly _trust _in her?

Kronos was leaning on a "no". After all, he had only just met Mira. Their capabilities were impressive, their willpower commendable, especially for their age. But they were still volatile, more than a little aggressive and of course, merely another human. However, as he was thinking this, he was reminded of something Damocles had told him:

_Trust in others as they trust in you. _Kronos had already convinced the girl to trust in him, and despite all her shortcoming she had still followed his wishes perfectly well after a rational explanation. It would be betrayal to answer with anything less than what he did:

"Yes."

The Astartes nodded as he stepped back.

"Well, I suppose I should introduce you to my squad," Ganbaatar stepped forth and motioned his Brothers to remove their helms. Various complexions, lines and edges met his gaze, but they all had common features. A distinct cut of the face and eyes, facial hair of varying lengths and of course, their characteristics scars. Every Battle-Brother, from the youngest to the oldest had their face littered with wounds that even their superb healing factor could not mend. And each one of them wore them proudly, he was sure.

"Altan, Batu, and Chingis, of the Steppe Ravagers. Gan, Gansukh and Khenbish of the Mountain Wolves. Muunokhoi, Odgerel and Tarkhan of the Plains Dragons," As he mentioned each name, every Battle-Brother lowered their head in a sign of respect. Kronos appreciated the gesture, returning it in kind. Mira, on the other hand, did not.

"Uh, do all of your names need to be so hard to spell?" Kronos was about to lecture the child himself, however one of the Astartes, a grizzled warrior missing an eye and sporting a very long beard, whom he recognized as Batu, stepped forth:

"For you information, young one, each one of our names hold distinct meaning within our culture. You disrespect us by mocking them," his Brothers seemed in agreement with this, releasing grunts of approval.

"I wasn't disrespecting. You think I'm that petty. I'm not. I just like saying the truth, and for me, it is hard."

A brief bout of unease hung in the air. The Custodian knew nothing major would occur in the end, but he also knew some Astartes had...rather lowly opinions of their mortal peers. Perhaps Mira was crossing a line she really ought not to?

Or perhaps not, as most of the Marines had a subdued chuckle, clearly amused. Even Ganbaatar allowed himself a small one, though quickly signaled his squad to fall back into line, as he addressed Kronos again:

"I quite enjoy your companion, Custodian."

"Hey!" Said companion was clearly not content with not being addressed herself. "The name's Mira to you, got it?"

His smile yet remained as he answered. "Of course, forgive me."

Kronos allowed himself an internal sigh. Everything had gone better than expected, but he knew fully well that that luck would likely not last. He could also tell that, tough as he or the Space Marines may have been, they were in an extremely open area where they could easily be ambushed.

The Sergeant seemed to share his sentiment, as he told something to his Battle-Brothers in their guttural tongue, and they began moving, hauling their equipment. When Kronos gave Ganbaatar an inquisitive look, he simply replied with:

"Bad location. We must move, we have spent far too much time here."

Kronos nodded, and looked at Mira. She seemed to have guessed what was about to happen next, and was clearly not amused as he hoisted her back up to his powerpack. Still, no verbal complaints were filed, as he and the Astartes began running towards their end goal.

* * *

Three hours had passed.

The capital was now in view, a sprawling city modeled with beautiful, towering spires, far removed from the relic urban area he had observed prior. However, it's beauty only served to enhance it's corrupted elements, as the buildings were starting to suffer from lack of maintenance, with their streets and walls covered in the occasional stain of blood.

They were in cover now, behind a large derelict ship, no doubt one crashed hundreds if not thousands of years ago, and likely left remaining due to it's sheer size and difficulty to break down. But he knew they were still vulnerable here, perhaps even more so than they had been in the unforgiving wastes. The Astartes themselves knew of this, and were using the massive bulk of the crashed craft as merely a short respite to prepare their plans and check their equipment once more.

He had learned from the Sergeant that they were the 6th Squad of the 4th Brotherhood of what was designated now as the mere, lone Chapter of White Scars, due to an event called the Second Founding, initiated immediately after Horus' rebellion by the Primarch Roboute Guilliman. He had narrowly avoided appearing too suspicious in asking for this, but nonetheless, it was merely another revelation added to the pile that was growing greater by the day merely to torment him.

But that was still not important now. What was important was their mission: they and three other squads would engage in hit-and-run attacks on orbital gun batteries stationed over the citadels the Chaos cult yet held. They were the reason for Drop Pods being inserted instead of a full blown assault, as no air or spacecraft could make it through the planet's respectable amounts of Defense Lasers and Void Shields.

As for how the cultists had managed to amass the entire planet's defensive grid and kept it running, or indeed, how they managed to gain control of the planet in the first place was still a mystery. Apparently the Planetary Governor himself had not fallen to the temptations of the Ruinous Powers, but much of the higher echelons of his culture had done so instead, ripping the world asunder in a mass suicide ritual that led to...something happening. All information the White Scars, or indeed any Imperial force, had on the Incident as it kept being called, was that an enormous Warp rift had appeared over the planet for a brief amount of time, only to disappear again. Whatever the cultists were attempting to bring over had not worked, but it would be foolish to assume they would not try again.

Kronos roused himself out of his thoughts once more as he surveyed the little camping area they were inhabiting. Each Battle-Brother was doing something, whether planning their assault by coordinating with the other squads via a special Vox-caster, tending to their equipment or, in the case of the lone Batu, checking their charge for any harm.

"You know, I wouldn't have made it this far without knowing how to keep myself from losing an arm. I'm fine."

Batu simply continued in his task of checking the girl's comparatively frail limbs. "Your perseverance is impressive, yes. But there is nothing wrong with a routine medical examination. Now please, remain still."

Mira huffed in annoyance, but she nonetheless obliged, letting Batu conclude his work and receiving a nod in response. She seemed content with sitting cross-legged. biting down on an emergency ration she had produced from her backpack, but was instead called to the central command "post" by Tarkhan, whom Kronos guessed was the most senior operative aside from the Sergeant himself. Before the Custodian could move to question this, the Marine closest to him, leaning cross-armed on part of the hull providing their current cover, decided to pipe up:

"You can relax. She is a native, and a survivor on top of that. She could have valuable info. That is why they're questioning her."

"Hmm," Kronos had not thought of that. "I suppose it does make sense. Gan, I presume?"

The Astartes nodded. "You have a connection with the runt, do you not?"

"I would not call it that. It is a mutually beneficial relationship. Nothing more."

"Hmm, very well. I simply notice that you appear more interested in her well-being that what would be considered normal. But then again, I am not the best judge of social interaction."

Kronos decided not to respond to that. He merely waited in silence for the rest of his entourage to finish their work, as he had already concluded any maintenance to his equipment that was needed. He noticed that Gan, too, had not much to say or do.

"I see you do not have much desire for chatter either."

"As I said, I am not particularly socially inclined. They are my Battle-Brothers, and I would fight with them to the ends of the universe. But that is it. Silent camaraderie is all I require."

Kronos nodded. Gan was very like him, in many regards. However, there was one other particular strange feature other than his isolation: his choice of weapon.

"A Lascannon?" Kronos gave him a perplexed look. "If I am not mistaken, such a weapon is uncommon for a Tactical Marine, correct?"

"A leftover from my Devastator days," the Marine's hard-edged face scrunched into a thoughtful expression. "I suppose I never quite grew past heavy fire support."

Kronos nodded once more, deciding to leave the Marine in his quiet, instead opting to head over to where the Ganbaatar and Tarkhan were talking to Mira. Upon his approach, Ganbaatar already seemed about done with her.

"Thank you for your cooperation, child."

"Yeah, sure," she noticed the Custodian drawing close, and also saw what his stern visage was telling her. In response she did stuck out her tongue, but likely because she was not intending on staying there anyway, as she did move. Kronos sighed, but decided to not pursue any further action, facing the Sergeant and what he could safely assume to be his second-in-command.

"I presume that is part of your professional working relationship, then?" Ganbaatar had a good-natured smile on his face, but it quickly straightened once more when he realized Kronos was not there to discuss anything outside the mission.

"Will we be moving out soon?"

Ganbaatar nodded. "The assault plan is entering it's final phases. The three other squads deployed here are nearly all ready. We are simply waiting for the appropriate equipment to drop down from orbit."

"Equipment? You already have your weapons and armor, do you not?"

"That is but half of our implement Custodian," the Sergeant seemed almost...insulted? "You know why **we** were specifically called here, and our preferred method of warfare."

It took Kronos a second to understand what the Marine was implying. "Ah, of course. I had forgotten. Excuse my ignorance. But, when will your rides arrive?"

"In a short while. The 4th Squad has yet to reach it's position. But the second all four Sergeants give the confirmation, specialized Drop Pods will deliver them to our general location."

Kronos did not particularly like the sound of "general location", but he nonetheless said nothing to it, instead opting to ask something else:

"Is there any way I can be of use?"

"Not at this current moment Custodian. But your skills shall be worth a hundred Battle-Brothers once we enter combat."

Kronos nodded, retreating from the command "post". Ganbaatar and Tarkhan seemed to be in control of the situation, and he deemed further conversation unnecessary. However, he still possessed nothing to do, so he simply settled for staying close by his charge.

_Is that what she is now? MY charge? _Kronos shook his head. Irrelevant thoughts only detracted from more important tasks. But...he did not have a more important task to attend to. And he was the only authority who actively looked after the girl. The White Scars seemed sympathetic to her, but he had no doubts they would throw her life away if the situation was dire enough in a heartbeat. He could not truly blame them for such a thing, but the thought still caused a particular case of wretch to manifest in his mind.

"Hey," he had somehow forgotten all about Mira while thinking of her. He did not know if that was impressive or concerning. "Why do you let those guys give you orders anyway? Don't you outrank them?"

"I have not once received any mandatory requests from them, no. This is simply their operation, and I only wish to interfere as far as my own mission is concerned," Kronos turned his head to look directly at her now, noticing she was sitting cross-legged once more, and that she had taken her shoes off. "However, yes, I technically am of a superior rank to them."

"Hmm," she seemed content after that. It looked as if there was to be a return to the silence of the past, broken only by the animate chatter of the Chogorians preparing for battle, which Kronos was perfectly happy with. Though Mira apparently could not sit idle for so long. "This changes nothing, right?"

"Elaborate."

"Our deal, it's still intact, right?" Kronos was surprised to hear a hint of worry in her voice.

"Of course. I said it once, Mira. I would never turn my back on a debt, especially one of honor."

"Good."

Kronos considered leaving the conversation rest, but either out of a boredom or another feeling he could not quite place, he decided to actually actively rouse the child into speaking with him not out of necessity as he had before, but simply for the sake of it.

"Whenever I do grant my favor, and I will, what will you do with it?"

Mira seemed to be caught in surprise. "Hadn't thought about that. And I still have to decide," she put on a cheeky smile. "Don't worry, Banana Man, I won't ask anything too outrageous...maybe."

Kronos had to suppress himself from sighing again. But, there was one curiosity that was still gnawing at him:

"Mira, did you have any family? Parents, siblings?"

He could immediately see that he had struck a nerve. Mira's face was wiped of all emotion almost immediately, but he could see that her hands were clenched.

"I do. I don't know where they are," a shadow had practically materialized over her eyes. "But I am going to find them. That's all I'm gonna say. Alright?"

"I see," Kronos opted to not press her further, just as requested. He could see clearly that that "alright" was rhetorical.

"Excuse me for interrupting."

Kronos turned to greet a young face, with a dark brown, short mohawk and golden earrings. A slightly familiar sight.

"Gan," he bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement.

The Marine returned the gesture. "I merely have a question for...Mira, if I remember correctly?"

The girl nodded. "Yeah, what is it?"

"You seem to be entirely comfortable around branches of Imperial military muscle that simply...are not common," Mira opted to meet the Marine's gaze, steely as it was, with her own. "Case in point, me and my brethren. We are usually talked of in awe-draped wonder even among other forces that serve with us. Not that I appreciate the attention, but you seem to not be among said majority of people. Care to explain why that is?"

"That's because I am. Our world used to be a recruitment world for Space Marines. They were just wiped out as part of...something's attack," the gap left in her knowledge was easily filled by both the Astartes and the Custodian's minds, especially considering the most prominent interstellar feature of the Segmentum Obscurus. "I never got to see them myself, but I always grew up with tales of people who had. That's why the whole mystic shit is lost on me."

Gan nodded as he backed off. But Kronos noticed that he curiously did not return to his position, instead preferring to remain where he was.

It seemed as if the unlikely trio were to fall back into the silence they each seemed to prefer, though that did not happen. The Sergeant barked what could only be described as a very order-esque sound to Gan, who responded in turn, no doubt the two of them communicating in their native language as Gan put his helmet back on. Kronos did likewise, while Mira put her boots back on, holstering her gun.

The two did not even have a chance to inquire about the sudden mobilization before the reason made itself apparent: Drop Pods. More of them.

However, this time, Kronos could tell they were different. Modified, and almost certainly not carrying any other Astartes. They impacted several kilometers in front of them, as the Astartes began moving towards their prizes, Kronos not far behind, with Mira in tow. In a few minutes, they had arrived at their destination, the contents of the Drop Pods already made bare to them.

"Our spearhead has arrived," Ganbaatar along with his brothers seemed glad to at least be atop their rides. He noticed Gan himself took a seat on the Squad's sole Attack Bike's sidecar, manning it's Heavy Bolter, with Tarkhan as his rider. "Oh, and Custodian? I managed to call in an extra favor."

Kronos heard the Sergeant, though he was also busy staring at his own ride. It was a far cry from a Gyrofalcon Jetbike, but it was certainly still a beautiful piece of Imperial technology. He reached for the access panel that turned on the engine, surprised that the design had not changed much in 10,000 years. As the engine turned on, he lightly turned the throttle, hearing it respond with a pleasant roar. He turned back to see Mira had already embarked on the back.

"You better know what you're doing Banana Man."

Kronos nodded as he switched the gear. He looked at the Sergeant, as he was exchanging hand signals with his comrades. Each Astartes was ready to go, and Kronos could feel the adrenaline rushing into the air as the Sergeant at last gave a final affirmation, with the entire Squad bursting into a charge straight towards the city, their advance marked by the thunderous scream of their engines.

* * *

**Author's notes: **So, I notice that one of my fav Chapters don't get much love at all, and low and behold, I'm giving them some of their honor back. Seriously, what's not to love about Space Mongols?

Sort of a filler chapter (not that kind) this time, so sorry 'bout that, but it's mostly to get the Khan's bois properly introduced. But for all of you interested, yes, I will attempt to sneak some action into the next chapter. Also, keep an eye out for a lil something unrelated to this fic being posted very soon (hopefully tomorrow). I think anybody that enjoys this will enjoy it as well.

As always, I am not a Wahammer expert, so if I screw anything up, pls do not burn me as a heretic.

As a side note, thank you for the increase in the amount of reviews. I HIGHLY appreciate anything you have to say, especially if it is critical since it helps me improve, so feel free to keep doing that if you can.

Otherwise, this is your usual it's-getting-hard-to-come-up-with-a-joke-for-this-every-time man signing off for now.


	7. Ambush

Check the bottom of the chapter for notes.

* * *

The city's view inched closer to the speeding band of bike riders. They would be upon it in no time. For the short while they had been travelling, Kronos and the Sergeant had already decided over Vox-comms their plan of engagement. Their targets numbered 20 in total, so the squad would be divided into 5 pairs, with it's sole Attack Bike and Kronos being assigned together. As such, given their superior weaponry and extra manpower, they would be assigned to the most heavily defended objectives.

However, even as they approached, the Custodian could not help but feel a sense of foreboding. Surely, they would've encountered some sort of resistance by now? These cultists were nothing if not organized, toppling a planetary government under the Imperium's nose and managing to take a hold of defense technology that prevented any form of large-scale assault. So, what were they doing, simply allowing the enemy forces into their stronghold?

The Sergeant too seemed wary. He and his Brothers were advancing towards the city with far less fervor than he would've anticipated of the Sons of Chogoris. Even Mira seemed on edge by this. Gan, his apparent upcoming partner, in the unique position of not being in control of a vehicle, constantly checked his Lascannon, Bolt Pistol and the Heavy Bolter mounted to his sidecar. A sign of nervousness or a force of habit?

An irrelevant thought as they approached the outskirts of the city, a beautiful realm by the name of Spiralis, whose corruption could be seen even clearer now. As they reached it at last, the White Scars slowed down to a stop, Kronos with them. The Sergeant barked orders to them in their native tongue, before informing Kronos' own miniature squad, thankfully, in Gothic of their 4 targets. All of Marines performed one last check on their bikes, before nodding to one-another. The Sergeant raised his hand, as he shouted:

"For the Khan and the Emperor!"

His Brothers returned the battle-cry, before his hand came down and all of them charged toward their respective objectives with the ferocity of a storm. Kronos followed behind his own group, perhaps a bit slower. He did not know how the White Scars were capable of navigating the city streets, wide and accommodating as they were, at such ludicrous speeds. Must've come part and parcel of growing up in a society that favored mobility above all else, he supposed. Meanwhile, even above all the engine noise, he could still hear Mira slipping curses due to his speed, subdued as it was in comparison to their other squad members.

His visual display lit up with information a minute or so later, the coordinates of their first target apparently having been broadcast to him. The way was clear, but the tension in the air only grew thicker. A scouting party not appearing as soon as they were in visual range was strange enough, but now they were in the center of the city. And yet...nothing. No one was there, except the bodies. He would've gone as far as to call the entire operation a dud, if the insidious presence of something watching them from beyond the cover of the buildings wasn't a constant one.

He would like to think his Astartes allies could tell of this as well. Gan certainly seemed on edge, constantly checking his equipment again and again. He didn't strike Kronos as the type of person to be nervously obsessive. Even Tarkhan turned his head a few times at his Brother, but Kronos doubted he did not have suspicions of his own.

They continued through the city streets, their advance set at a thunderous pace, but the sprawling metropolis extended seemingly endlessly. The feeling of unease never ceased for even a moment as Kronos heard the cackle of static over his Vox-comm. Tarkhan was messaging him.

"Ready your Krak Grenades. We're coming upon our first Shield Generator."

Kronos furrowed his brow at this. "I was not equipped with any during our meeting."

"Compartment on the left side of your bike. Standard issue."

Kronos did not know how he could accomplish this without moving one or both hands off the handlebar, which would be decidedly unsafe. Being as experienced and trained as the White Scars would've probably helped. Trying to find his way around this, he remembered a little detail currently clutching to his frame.

He motioned Mira with his head. After a couple of seconds, she responded, but he knew she wouldn't hear him over the roar of the engine, instead motioning to the compartment Tarkhan has informed him about. Realizing what he meant, Mira opened it, to find the instruments needed for their job. She gave them to him, as holstered the grenades to his belt, just as their first target came into direct view.

The Attack Bike in front of him slowed down, as he saw both Tarkhan and Gan prepare their own Krak Grenades, waiting to get in throwing range of the building. The Generator was massive, a thing of ornate design that could've been passed off for a colossal cathedral with ease. Yet, despite it's size, he knew that only a few well-placed shots would be needed to disable it. As they were nearly upon the gargantuan machine, Kronos reached for his belt, readying his own shot. Waiting, waiting...

Something was horribly wrong.

The feeling of wrongness pervaded throughout Kronos' entire body, as if his armor was stuffed full of liquid nitrogen. He slammed his foot on the break, uncaring of the shock of momentum dispersing, the screeching sound of strained mechanisms, or the screams of his panicked companion. His mind was working on overdrive now, seemingly almost awakened from a white haze that had settled over his mind.

Why was the the Generator not active? Why did it not have guards? Not guarding the city was enough of a red flag, but this was almost absurdly wrong. Why did it not resemble any pattern he'd seen before? Why were the Scars simply charging towards it so confidently?

And then, at last, he felt the final confirmation, if he could ever possibly need any more. A terrible feeling, a shivering cold in the back of his mind, but amplified several times. He had sensed the presence of Chaos before, but only residual. Diluted. Unpure. In summation, not the genuine touch of corruption from the Ruinous Powers.

But now he did.

"We've drove into an ambush!" he practically shouted into his Vox-comms. Ways away, he could see his partner Astartes having too stopped int their tracks noticing his strange behavior, their confusion seemingly only strengthening by his shout. Their confusion and indecisiveness ceased when the firing started however.

Immediately, as if by a cruel hand of fate, Bolt rounds tore through the air, filling the newly-converted battlefield with cacophony of noise. He could see them, however. One large burst was headed straight for him, while another for his teammates. Amidst his adrenaline-infused brain, one thought suddenly made itself crystal clear: _Mira_.

He saw the girl, practically frozen from his perspective, in a state of sheer terror. He reached with the speed of a Thunderhawk, so explosive was his grab that he feared he had broken the poor girl in half for a brief instant, before pulling her in and shielding her with his arms. His Auramite armor was projected to withstand Lascannons, Plasma Weapons, and far, far worse. It would hold. Mira would not. His armor could be fixed. A Bolt round through a normal human never could.

The shots rang throughout his frame. Even if he had attempted to block them, nothing would've come of it. They were simply too many for even him to deflect all of them. Their Bike had not been so lucky. Peppered with small implosions, Kronos was awed it hadn't blown up right away. They had to move, fast.

He glanced over his other companions. Gan was hiding behind his sidecar, ducking in and out of cover to fire shots with his Bolt Pistol. Tarkhan stood beside him, his condition barely readable. But the way he was slumped made it clear despite all the chaos. _Dead__. _Or at least, he was going to be extremely soon. They needed a way out.

Another hail of explosive lead stopped his thinking process, as he now ducked under the cover of his own bike. He noticed Mira had stopped screaming at the very least, and now satisfied with her temporary safety, his combat "program" flared to life, as he rose out of cover to examine the area once more.

12 hostiles in total. Well hidden among the dense urban jungle, but still distinguishable to his keen eyes. They were definitely Space Marines, but they were corrupted beyond measure, their very presence disgusting and unnatural. Clad in black armor and sporting numerous unknown protrusions, they bore a nonetheless distinguishable and familiar symbol on them: the Eye of Horus.

What stood before him were undoubtedly remains of the damned Sons of Horus Legion, now reduced to nothing but the pawns of Chaos. Kronos could probably kill them all easily, shrugging anything their basic weaponry could throw at him, if he hadn't noticed the massive Plasma Cannon hanging off from one of their troops. The massive weapon would have to be taken care of before he engaged any of the other traitors, but it would likely spot him in advance and rip through him. Auramite Armor was mighty, practically impenetrable, but enough shots from that titanic mound of destruction would bring him down as well.

With his options extremely limited, and two of his companions unable to help, he would have to opt for a strategic retreat. It left a bitter taste in his mouth, but the enemies had too much of an advantage here. He would need to make a break for it, and he would have to do it now. Grabbing Mira again, almost swearing he could hear the child through the cacophony of noise cursing his name, he dashed through to Gan's position, his bike now reduced to little more than slag, shielding Mira all the way with his back.

Placing Mira in between the two of them, Kronos noticed he just barely had avoided a shot from the massive Plasma Cannon. It's wielder was finally moving, reloading as he advanced toward their position. A distraction was needed.

Kronos rose out of their temporary barrier, firing a burst from his Bolt Caster, aimed at the general area of the Cannon wielder. He saw some of the Traitor Marines receive momentary recoil, the Cannon wielder himself falling downward. Just as hope seemed restored and Kronos was nearly ready to jump and tear these filthy treacherous fiends apart, the Cannon wielder raised himself once more, harmed, with his armor ruined in many spots, but not put out of commission. And he immediately began to charge his weapon for a another, likely fatal shot.

Before he was distracted again by a low caliber slug emptying into his eyes, followed by another. Mira had ascended from cover for just an instant, screaming bloody murder as she did, and shot directly at the Traitor Astartes. He had seldom seen such a display of bravery and or stupidity from full grown men, let alone an adolescent girl. Yet another article to add to the pile of why Mira was entirely unusual. But once again, the distraction was extremely temporary.

Realizing their time was up, Kronos picked Mira up once more before grabbing Gan by the shoulder.

"We leave now!" he had to shout throughout the cacophony of the battle.

Gan heard him perfectly, but he could not have been more incredulous to the suggestion.

"I will not stop until my brother is avenged! Even if I have to personally fight with nothing but a stump of a leg and tear their throats out with my teeth!"

Kronos tightened his grip, and for a moment the Astartes thought he was going to receive a thrashing, only for the Custodian to throw himself along with him and their human charge several meters further, their previous cover melted to steam by a blast with the heat of a sun's core. As his Bolt Caster roared to life once more, mostly aimed at the ground this time to create a brief perimeter of concealing dust, Kronos was done playing nice, staring the Astartes in the eye with cold wrath.

"Continue to fight here, and you prove yourself an idiot," the cloud was already dissipating, and he could hear that the Traitor Marines were merely reloading. He should've anticipated as such, but he still cursed his lack of time. "By dying needlessly here, you disgrace your brother even more. We are retreating Astartes, **now**. Unless you want your honor to perish with you, I suggest you follow us."

The Custodian spared no more words to the shocked Astartes as he bolted into a run, avoiding the rain of fire that was being brought in by all sides now that the dust had settled. Mira, still being carried by him, a fact he had no doubt she loathed, finally piped up.

"Take the right!" well, more yelling, but it was necessary through the storm of sheer size. "There's a huge fucking building! You can't miss it!"

Kronos looked at his charge with an inquiring gaze, or the closest he could give to one as he was currently running at top speed. Her resolve however, was adamant.

"Trust me, just do it!"

Kronos decided to oblige, if only because being a native Mira might've actually had a plan to get them out of there. Or at least, that was his best chance at the current moment. He turned around for a brief instant, to see what the thunderous lead storm had already confirmed, that they were indeed still being followed, but Gan thankfully was in tow. He saw as he shot back with his Bolt Pistol, his Lascannon just barely hanging by his back, the weapon obviously being too unwieldy for such a fight.

He followed the path Mira set him on, eventually coming upon said huge building. He had no time to appreciate the architecture, but for what it was worth, it was indeed massive, though a relic in comparison to the modern city around. An almost cathedral-like, maroon, bricked fortress, it soon eclipsed view of anything else, as Kronos broke through the already half-ruined doorway, with Gan and the sound of enemy fire following suit.

Inside, he could see the true purpose of the building. Some sort of ancient rapid transit system, it's tracks long rusted over and no trains to be found. It had been clearly abandoned for a considerable length of time, unlike the city around. But Kronos had not time to ponder, as he finally understood Mira's plan, looking to the myriad of tunnel entrances, some of them left open as the traitorous Chaos warriors caught up to them, literally bursting through the walls. Not knowing where to go, Kronos looked to his charge for guidance.

"Rightmost tunnel!"

He began sprinting again, Gan alongside him now, as their pursuers relentlessly hunted them.

* * *

The tunnel was quiet, dimly lit. Only the sound of dripping water and the occasional rat-like creature scurrying in places unknown broke the choking silence.

They had been running for about 30 minutes, Kronos had to presume. Mira's knowledge of the complex came at an end the second they entered the lightless, labyrinthine tunnels. Although Gan and him could navigate through it with some difficulty, and the blazing of Bolter fire initially helped them, Mira was at a loss. A normal human could not see a single thing in these railways. He questioned if even a feline would be possessing of the vision necessary for it.

But nonetheless, they had made it through, albeit barely. He would have to estimate that they had lost the soldiers of the Black Legion about 20 minutes ago now, and the fact that they had not yet been found made it quite clear that they were almost assuredly safe for the time being. But the air was still thick with tension. Not just that of a squad of fully armed Chaos Marines potentially popping out at any moment, but also between Kronos and Gan.

Kronos knew he was still bitter over abandoning his brother's body, and perhaps even more so in abandoning the battlefield. Such was the way of the Astartes, prideful and devoted to a fault, perhaps foolishly so. Kronos could not blame them, for the Custodians too possessed such a devotion, if not to their brothers-in-arms then to their duty. It was merely the nature of being so thoroughly indoctrinated into the Emperor's finest. But, during the War in the Webway, the Custodians had learnt restraint. They had to, for they would've perished otherwise.

Alas, if they were to survive the harrowing ordeal that Kronos was entirely certain was awaiting them, they would need to work as a team. Being a team meant helping one-another, and definitely not possessing of an inherent dislike against each-other due to previous choices. So it was that Kronos would have to mend whatever he could get his hands on.

"Gan."

"Save it, Custodian," his silhouette was easily visible to him, even in the darkness. "I should've died alongside Tarkhan. That at the least, would've been a glorious death in the Emperor's name. Now instead I'll be hunted down like a rabid dog, while my brother's body is desecrated by those traitorous scum."

"Gan, you are acting irrational. It's all due to the loss. I've seen it happen before," the Custodian approached him, intending to comfort the White Scar in some manner, but instead simply choosing not to considering how awkward it would have been. "Your brotherhood is your biggest strength, as well as your greatest weakness, considering how it is cultivated in you. But we must move forward. We will only die here if we do not keep moving."

"Your brother will be avenged. You can be assured of that. But not now."

Gan stood silent. He could hardly even hear the Marine breath. He supposed he needed some time to contemplate what he had said, but they would have to move soon nonetheless. His newly-acquired sixth sense had calmed down as well now, but Kronos knew this was merely a short respite, and nowhere close to safe haven. They would have to regroup, and try again. But until Gan gathered himself, he supposed he would have to engage with the only other person there.

"Are you alright, Mira?"

"I think my wrist got strained when you were pulling. Is fine though, I've gone through worse," it was hard to notice, but her voice was still cracked from all the screaming. Still, she held herself well through all of that, he supposed. "Oh, and...thanks. You saved my life, uh a lot of times back there."

Kronos did not know how to respond to that. He supposed it was only natural, but this situation had occurred before and he had been just as wordless then. It was after a campaign to liberate a planet from an Ork infestation, the name of which he bothered not to even remember, when he had excavated a massive chunk of blasted debris, likely once part of a large wall, to find family of five amazingly still all alive. They had given him thanks beyond measure, but the Custodian had stood silent, only granting them a single nod as he moved to join his Shield-Company and his Emperor.

But this time, he would not be left speechless by such a basic human response. A Custodian did not feel awkwardness, especially when one decided to honor them, even if it was an honor well deserved.

"It was...the least I could've done Mira," predictable response would have to do. But he could've sworn he saw Mira smile under the darkness.

However, he realized that he would have to give the order to move soon. It had went unspoken, but without Tarkhan there, and arguably even when he was still alive, Kronos was the most senior authority in their little band. Mira obviously wouldn't make any decisions on her own concerning the well-being of the unit, and he doubted Gan had the incentive to try and take command at any level. However, just as he was about to speak up, he heard heavy thuds coming from his right. Gan was approaching the two of them, his gait betraying that something had changed.

"Custodian," he nodded. "Mira."

The Custodian responded in turn, while Mira released a small noise of acknowledgment.

"I realize that my...compromised emotional state nearly led us all to death. I seek forgiveness for my actions."

"And we are more than happy to grant it to you, Gan. But have you made sure it does not happen again?" Kronos knew he was being somewhat insensitive, but he had none the time for politeness at the current moment.

"Yes. I will ensure that I do not burst into another...tantrum, that shall compromise your safety, or the safety of your companion. I realize know that my brother would indeed be disgraced if I wasted my life worthlessly for a vendetta, and even more so if I gave other lives for it," he paused for a moment, before continuing once more, his voice now cold with wrath. "But I swear upon Jaghatai's pride, once our hold on this world is secured, I will personally see to it that every damn, filthy traitor upon this planet is decapitated, and every last one of their heads mounted on the road to Quan Zhou."

"Your wrath needs to be tempered still, Astartes. But it is good to have your by our side once more. Now, we must move. Our time of rest is at an end."

"This whole day has been one giant shitstorm after another. I feel like my feet are going to blow up any moment now inside these boots," Kronos frowned, but he couldn't exactly blame the child. The whole day they had barely rested, and while such a thing was poultry to beings such as him and Gan, regular humans, and especially juveniles, were far more susceptible to exhaustion.

"Do you require me to carry you again?" he did not fully understand why he made that suggestion. Perhaps it was simply to alleviate her tiredness, perhaps it was to quicken their pace, as she would surely slow them down in the long run. Perhaps it was something else entirely, but the response was not exactly unexpected.

"You kidding? I let you do that once, I ain't letting you do it again while I still have working fucking legs," she jumped to her feet as if to illustrate her point. "Besides, where are we even going anyway? My knowledge of the tunnels ended back when the darkness started. Which was, oh yeah, almost immediately."

"We will simply follow one tunnel to it's end. Sooner or later, they will lead us to an exit," Gan piped up, seemingly over his previous state, but Kronos had no doubt the thought lingered in the back of his mind still. "By the way, how were you knowledgeable on this metro station? Or the routes around the city in general? I believed you weren't raised here."

"No, I wasn't, but my family visited this place all the time before the...you know," she swallowed loudly as she continued. "You learn a few things when you visit a city that many times. Major landmarks, important places, that sorta stuff. Just enough to not get lost."

Gan nodded. "Let us move forward then."

Kronos nodded. Mira released another grunt of approval. Without any further words, they continued onward opposite to the side where they had come from, just as Gan had suggested.

* * *

Kronos could tell Mira wasn't holding herself together very well. Having been traveling for some time now through the pitch black catacombs, their salvation clearly not anywhere in sight, it was starting to get to her. She was far more jittery, and would draw her gun on practically any misinterpreted sound.

Quite frankly, he once again could not blame her. The darkness, the ambient sounds, once perhaps completely ignorable, served to create an atmosphere of pure tension, just as hearing the sound of a gun being loaded on a darkened alleyway, only for nothing to happen afterward. It was the anticipation, always, where the unease lay, and never the bang of that gun.

So it was that Mira was desperately looking for an opportunity to start a conversation to at least have something to break the chocking atmosphere, but she found that her current guardians displayed no such desire. Kronos and Gan had both been part of brutal training regimes that had served to pull most of their fear out of them, and longstanding phobias were among the first things tackled. But even from them, there was something primal in the darkness and mystery, even if they could see far better than Mira could.

Kronos therefore decided to occupy himself while also keeping Mira from having a mental breakdown under not only her instinctual fear, but also other stresses that had accumulated and were amplified by it.

"Mira."

It would've been impossible for any normal human to see, but Kronos noticed how she jumped a little by the sound of his voice. "Yeah?"

"If you desire to speak, you may do so."

"Oh..." she seemed caught off guard. "Well, it's just that...it's nothing."

"No, do go ahead. We have nought more important to attend to right now anyway. Unless Gan has any objections?"

Gan gave a stern shaking of his head. Kronos would like to believe he did not appreciate the cold, dead silence either. Well, not entirely.

"Well, I've just been thinking," Mira strode forward a bit faster towards the two, nearly bumping into Gan, in an effort to properly converse with them. "They ambushed us right? How could they know we were coming?"

"Satellite surveillance, camouflaged scouts," Kronos began to notice the floor was getting wet, likely a more substantial leak. "There are many ways."

"Yeah, but still, don't you think it was a little convenient that they so happened to have troops stationed at the exact same location we were going to first? Almost as if they knew our plan in advance?"

"They could've quite simply stationed troops near every strategic asset and waited for their opportunity. The Traitor Legions are nothing if not numerous."

"Not as numerous as you might think, Custodian," Gan, once again, displayed his skill in joining a conversation out of the blue, despite his quiet demeanor. "I agree with the child. Something reeks in here. And to be quite honest, I am still puzzled on how our first target turned out to be a dud."

"Perhaps the information you acquired was somehow corrupted?" Kronos could've suggested his other consideration of their scouting force simply being incompetent, but he highly doubted that himself, especially with the information likely going through several layers of rechecking and analysis.

"Preposterous. We had input directly from the Sorsan 8th through 22nd Imperial Guard regiments. They had personally ceased their warmaking along the Segmentum Solar to partake in the liberation of their homeworld. If there was any force that would posses and ensure said information correctly, it is them."

"Then...what makes you sure they're not helping the traitors by leading you to a diversion?" Gan was about to retort, but Mira continued. "Think about it: from what you've told us, the cultist nutbags had been working towards taking over Sors for some time now. Ya really think they'd do that without first dipping their sticky fingers on the Imperial Tithe as well?"

Kronos and Gan were both surprised by the child's reasoning ability, but the more they considered it, the more logical it started to sound.

"Emperor's Throne...you may be right, child."

"All the more reason to hurry our advance then. We must rendezvous with the Sergeant and inform the liberation fleet of this potential treachery," that said, there was one minuscule detail which nagged at his mind. "Mira, how do you know of the Imperial Tithe? If I am not mistaken, it is not exactly something which is spoken off by most of the population of any given planet, especially among it's children."

"Well Sors isn't...**wasn't **a shithole full of ignorant idiots...for the most part," he could tell he had tapped into another potentially sensitive subject, but this time Mira did not seem particularly affected. "Still, explaining to a 10 year old how they can be whisked away to fight and die on some forgotten hellhole the second they reach the right age? Not fun."

"That is...quite depressingly appropriate, unfortunately," was that a hint of regret he could detect in Gan's voice?

"Meh, I consider it sort of a blessing in disguise. Without that basic training I wouldn't be here right now. Hell, most people who went through it aren't here anyway. Still, it did turn a good portion of the population into hardass motherfuckers. Well, that or the global desert."

A beat passed without Kronos knowing how to respond to that statement, only for Gan to do it for him.

"I can see now why an Astartes Chapter would choose your world as a recruitment headquarters."

"Mhm. Also, might wanna get that comm link ready, cause I think we're finally near the end of this God-Emperor forsaken tunnel."

Kronos was confused by that choice of wording and expression. Was this planet one claimed by Lorgar that had remained loyal? Well, "loyal" was moot at this moment, given the current situation they were in. Nonetheless, Mira seemed to be correct. The light levels from the presumed end of the tunnel they were heading towards began to increase in luminosity, signaling their final escape.

But as they approached the gradually increasing light, finally setting eyes upon the actual exit, a large shadow made itself evident. Kronos and Gan both had an almost assured idea of what it was, but the dangerously close Bolt shell that careened toward them and the shout confirmed it.

"Loyalist dogs!"

Both of their brains entered combat mode. Gan immediately threw himself to the walls, taking Mira with him, being closest to her. But Kronos needed not worry over such poultry weaponry, his armor deflecting the shots, as it was barely even scratched. But he would nonetheless have to take care of this traitor, as he drew out his Guardian Spear, engaging his own Bolt Caster.

Littered with holes, the Traitor Astartes stumbled forward, but he did not yield. Gan then decided to finish what his small burst could not, hauling his massive Lascannon from his back and taking a shot, a laser the size of a juvenile tree's trunk bursting forth from it and ionizing the air around it, going straight through the traitor's chest. A massive hole, at least the size of his head, was splayed across said chest, the light of the outside world visible clearly through it, as the skin and armor sizzled still. The Marine stumbled. He took one step. Then another.

He fell over, obviously dead. Kronos and Gan nonetheless rushed to the body. Gan once again took the initiative by putting a Bolt shell through the traitor's head.

"Not quite beheading. But it will do."

Mira joined them. not a second later, obviously a bit shocked by the experience of being pulled as subsonic speeds. She seemed unnerved, but more so at the Marine himself than the carnage. Perhaps she had simply gotten used to it. What followed however, was definitely not expected, as she spat on the corpse. Both he and Gan shot her inquiring looks, only for her to return with an ironclad visage.

"Fucker ruined my home. He deserved that. And everything that happened to him."

Kronos knew it was only natural for her to harbor such hatred, especially after all that had happened to her, but it still seemed...dreadfully unnatural for a young teen to possess such malice in their hearts. He supposed that was just a byproduct of war, one most hated even among a force such as his, which existed only to wage war against the enemies of their liege: the ability of war to fundamentally change and, specifically, break a person.

Gan, on the other hand, while not amused, was certainly impressed. Kneeling down to the girl's level, Gan disregarded the curious look Kronos gave him and the confused form of the girl's face, as he removed his Bolt Pistol from his belt and extended his arm forwards.

"Take it."

Kronos was shocked beyond words. Mira, while clearly not so, was going through a similar bout of bewilderment.

"W-why?"

"Because, with your actions so far you have clearly demonstrated far above average skill and bravery. You are no good to us with measly shotgun, but with this, you can truly aid us in battle."

"Gan, I will have to intervene. She is a very capable warrior, yes, but she is not ready for Astartes-grade equipment."

"Y-yeah, I'll have to go with Kronos on this one," the girl was obviously excited far more than she wanted to let on. Her simply using his real name was just a dead ringer. "Aren't these things supposed to be able to rip a normal human's arm off by sheer recoil?"

"That is simply myth. And as to rebut you, Custodian, I ask you to look back to less than an hour ago, when this girl proved her worth by not merely standing her ground where most Imperial soldiers would've been whimpering in fear at the sight of Chaos Marines, but also actively fired back on them without hesitation. For her bravery, and for her ability, she more than deserves at least a supporting role, if not simply a way to defend herself, should conflict inevitably strike again."

Kronos would like to argue further, but...he supposed Gan had a point. He had seen that Mira was not to be underestimated as a shooter, and she clearly had some military and survivalist experience. Perhaps, it could even work out as a benefit for them? He sighed internally as he replied.

"Very well, I suppose you make a fine enough point, Gan. But, she will return the minute we come into contact with your squad again," _assuming any of them are still alive. _Kronos did not like having that thought, but it was always a possibility. "Until then, she can provide cover fire, but only under protection. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yessi-Hell yes Sir!" Mira went from shaking in her boots to an extremely wide smile immediately. Gan, meanwhile, turned over the dead traitor's body only to recover his Bolter. Soon after, he pocketed the ammunition as well. When Kronos looked ready to ask him about, he once again jumped ahead of his thoughts.

"My Lascannon is my weapon of choice, but only a fool enters battle without a backup, especially with said weapon's slow reload and extremely limited ammo," he dusted off the clearly ancient design. "Quite old, but still functional. Untouched by corruption, surprisingly enough. Must be newly reclaimed. It should do the trick."

"Then why not give Mira it instead of your modern Bolt Pistol?"

"Because, Custodian, this might very well be too much for a regular human to use with any effect. The Bolt Pistol is an ostensibly powerful rifle, for all intents and purposes by comparison," he holstered the weapon, heading at last through the tunnel and into the blinding light of the above world, with Kronos and Mira in tow. But said blinding light quickly became far less so, as they noticed that the planet's sun was in the process of setting. "We must make haste now. Baghatur Ganbaatar has already set up numerous points of converging across the city for such an occasion."

"How will we know which one he had chosen?"

"He will have left behind some sign. Some signal. One which I can and will decrypt, while the traitors cannot."

"Then we must hurry, for that Marine could've had a Vox-comm link with the others. They could be moving to our location as we speak," Kronos would've fallen silent again at seeing Gan nod, only for something to be reminded to him by their rather cheery companion. "And please, do teach Mira to handle that thing in the meanwhile."

"Right now? On the move?"

"Considering there is a very real chance she threatens to blow herself up at any moment, yes."

"Oh, c'mon, I was taught the basics on Bolter technology," Mira seemed almost insulted by him, but that quickly changed to a large grin once more. "I've never held one though. This is so cool."

Kronos sighed, giving Gan a look in the process, as he set about the task given to him by the Custodian.

* * *

**Author's notes: **Fucking finally! This chapter just would not stop being written, and this is still shorter than it was intended to be. I'm mostly ending it here so I can fulfill the weekly schedule that I am so intensely fucking set on maintaining, even though I admitted it was a general guideline at best.

Meh, guess I'm just obsessive. Otherwise, not a lot to say about this one except I'm glad it's done. As you can see, Gan is starting to be a bit more like an actual human, what with the whole talking and having actual emotions thing (not that the White Scars were ever know for being anywhere close to the more...robotic Chapters, but still). Also, notice the bit of actual Mongolian honorific in there? Did I do a right?

I hope this chapter was a bit more packing in terms for more action-oriented readers. I hope I can do more of it eventually, but as it is, the story is still unfolding right now.

As always, I am not knowledgeable on everything on Warhamm...okay, like, nevermind this anymore. I literally do research for every single chapter, so if I have any problems just point them out anyway, but until then yeah, I guess I am extremely knowledgeable on Warhammer 40k. Also, reviews are always appreciated and welcomed, but you should know that by now.

Anyway, this is your resident tired insomniac going to bed.


	8. Unity

Check the bottom of the chapter for notes.

* * *

"A Custodian? Here?"

"Indeed. It was quite an interesting Vox-message."

"This might complicate things. But, I presume our deal remains unchanged?"

"Of course it does. The Warmaster's claim will not be denied. This...unfortunate turn of events is ultimately a chink in our plans."

"I think I do not need to remind you it was a chink in your former master's armor which proved his downfall. Or, so the legends goes anyway."

"If you value your life, you should consider never mentioning that again. We are merely business partners in the barest of senses. Displeasure us enough, and we will simply find one more willing among your followers to aid us. After disposing of you first, of course."

"Perhaps. But considering how near the Despoiler's plan comes, I allow myself the relief that you may need me more than you let on."

"You walk a very dangerous path, Zeno."

"I admit that. But I always have. It's in the very nature of my work. And I believe you can appreciate that. Reassure your master he shall have his foothold."

* * *

"I really wish our bikes had not been torn to shreds right about now. It would make this much swifter."

"Your statement is...seconded, Gan."

"Thirded. Or however you say that. This is seriously getting embarrassing. I didn't think I'd be carried this much while I could still fucking walk," Mira was clearly not getting used to being carried around any time soon. In a way, he sympathized with her. Feeling useless was one of the worst sensations one could experience from Kronos' own experience. But still, he could not see how or why she intended to distinguish herself against two superhuman warriors of the Emperor's own blood.

Yet...he did notice how she kept quiet for longer now. Perhaps it was simply reluctant acceptance, even to a tiny degree. Perhaps it was the examining of her new weapon.

Kronos was still unsure on the whole concept of her wielding a Bolt Pistol. As Gan had said, it was much like an ordinary rifle, even if one that fired some of the deadliest ammunition in the whole galaxy. But Astartes and Custodes spent years, perhaps decades mastering the common Bolter. He was in no doubt that Mira wouldn't do anything stupid with it, she was a very smart child despite the tantrums, and making herself useful in battle would likely help her vent while providing some measure of relief to them.

However, he still questioned Gan's rash choice. He questioned Gan in general. He simply could not get a read on the Marine. His quiet, cold, logical demeanor seemed to be more in line with the Raven Guard than his own bloodline. Yet, his ruthless attitude and desire for revenge did pin him closer to his gene-sire. And then the rash decision making did not spoke of either Legion well.

There was certainly something about him that was...off, for lack of a better term. Whatever it was, Kronos knew he would need to keep an eye on him for the foreseeable future. Not least of all now that he was their guide. _Speaking of that..._

"Gan, where exactly are we going?"

Gan did not say anything. He simply broke off from their formation. His decreased gait and altered course continued for several minutes, until he found what he was looking for. He swiped something off the ground, before joining back up with them. Both Mira and Kronos gave him a confused look as he revealed to them what he had been searching for.

"...A flower?"

Gan simply nodded. "Not just any flower, Custodian. A Sapphire Iris. A common plant in the Chogoran steppes, it's significance lost to these traitors. It is our signal."

"Care to elaborate?"

"Well, for an outsider, it is for all intents and purposes a normal flower, except for one aspect: it's scent," when Gan continued to receive befuddled looks, he further explained. "It is far sharper than the smell of most ordinary plants, which can be noticed already by an untrained nose."

Kronos and Mira both scrunched their faces at this, trying to reach a whiff of the supposed superpotent smell, and indeed they did. Kronos himself felt his nose as if cut by invisible blades, no doubt increased by the enhancements to his senses. Mira too noticed this, although to a lesser extent.

"So...I do not get it, what does that have to do with finding the squad?"

"Well, certain tribes take training of the senses to a far greater extent than usual. For you see, some want to know all that their environment can throw at them and more. So they build upon their senses, making hearing and smell and touch and taste hold just as much importance as sight. The tribe Baghatur Ganbaatar is from utilizes such a tactic, and either due to sentimentality or a bout of tactical genius, he has incorporated this sense training into our squad as well. All of us still alive will be able to follow his signal."

"I...am still unsure on this, Gan."

"Your worry is not unfounded Custodian, but trust in me. We have deployed this tactic to great effect in numerous campaigns. It has not failed us before, it will not fail us now."

Kronos considered so for a moment, until he reluctantly nodded. Had it been any other circumstance, he was certain he would've been more incredulous at the idea, but he supposed the dry, sterile desert air did make such a sharp scent all the more readable. The matter was helped by the fact that Gan did seem to know exactly where he was going. However, turning to Mira revealed that even she was hardly convinced.

He mentally sighed. Gan probably knew what he was doing. While he still couldn't trust the Marine explicitly, he did have faith in his skill at least, and the leadership of his commanding officer. The Custodian was intended to be superior in every way to his Astartes counterparts, but that did not excuse belittling them, especially when Ganbaatar had given him no reason to.

Still, his look over his companion had brought something else to occupy him for the moment.

"Mira, I would highly suggest that you begin wearing your helmet from now on. It will probably cause you some short-term distress, but we are actively engaged in a battlefield. Continuing further without it on would be a foolish course of action."

Mira looked like she was going to protest for just a moment, before resigning, finding acceptable logic in his statement. Though that did not stop her entirely from talking back as she donned it.

"You know, a Bolt round will take my head off, helmet or not."

"Indeed, but if there is one thing I have learnt during my two centuries of service, is that nothing can be left to chance. Tales of men who have survived Plasma shots to the head because of the humble helmet are not as uncommon as you might believe."

She released a small noise of contention, but otherwise said nothing beyond it. If she had continued, he probably wouldn't have noticed Gan coming to a stop in front of him. Or the sight of bodies before them.

Kronos halted in a couple of second as well. He watched over the gruesome scene, blood and spent ammo everywhere. Sprawled around them, the corpses of 7 of the Warmaster's spawn, each with horrific injuries. But, at the center of it all, as if a perverted work of gory art, were two of Gan's Brothers. Chingis and Khenbish, he would wager, but he had not been familiar enough with their faces to tell for sure, and especially so now given their condition.

The extent to which they had been defiled was truly disturbing, even to him. Their Progenoid glands had been unsurprisingly torn to shreds, denying the Sons of Chogoris chances of recuperating their loss. Their armor and symbols had been broken and scratched to the point of being unrecognizable, and even their scars of honor had not been left untouched.

Through all of this, neither of his companions said anything. Mira was likely in shock at the scene herself. She had seen much unpleasantry, he was sure, but he doubted she would've been prepared for this. Gan...he did not even bother to try and comprehend what Gan could be thinking at this moment. Though, he could sworn that the Marine was visibly shaking ever so slightly.

That was when he grabbed a nearby traitor's corpse and began punching it. Again, and again, and again. Mira seemed looked away, but Kronos kept staring with morbid curiosity. They were both disturbed to a degree, but both could also understand their companion's plight to a certain extent. If it went on for much longer however, Kronos would have to intervene.

Thankfully, Gan did stop. But his rage was yet only barely contained. The traitor's helm had caved in of itself, drying crimson spread across it as well as Gan's fists. The Marine's breathing could be visibly heard, even through his armor. That was when Kronos decided enough was enough. Simply letting him to his own thoughts wouldn't do any good.

"Gan..."

Before he could say anything else however, Gan suddenly removed his helm. His eyes were unreadable, even if his face had been twisted into a cold sneer. The Marine stared at the body he had defiled. Then at his massacred Battle-Brothers. And finally, his own hands, now covered in dried blood.

Internal conflict took him over, it's subtle hints reigning over his eyes. For a few moments, Kronos dared not to talk to the Astartes for fear of drawing the ire of the war within. He had no doubt he could restrain Gan if it came to that, of course, but he would rather not put their companion at risk. However, said companion did not seem so attentive to his condition.

"You...okay, Gan?" he was about to berate her quietly for speaking, but the words seemed to break the Marine from his self-imposed torment. He looked over to Kronos and his charge, his expression shifting to one of melancholy as he gazed in their direction.

"Hah," his eyes yet seemed transfixed to some point far in the horizon. But they soon shifted to them proper. "I am...sorry."

"You sure you alright?"

"Affirmative," he gave a weak smile for reassurance, which disappeared quickly as he looked back at his brothers' bodies. "Barbarians. Defiling the bodies of the fallen like this..."

"Gan," Kronos moved to speak to him again, but the Marine simply lifted one hand, seeming to struggle to find the words, the struggle within seemingly yet alive, if subdued.

"It is quite alright Custodian. I am once more regretful for letting my emotions get the better of me. But, you must understand, Khenbish was a cousin of mine. So, currently...processing the fact that he's been slain like this..." Gan's face had shifted to one of bitter resentment, yet guilt still hid somewhere in there, Kronos could tell by the sound of his voice. "Whatever vile Warp spawn inflicted such dishonorable deaths upon my brothers will be torn to shreds by our wrath."

He sighed as he barely tore away his gaze from the cadavers of his fallen compatriots. "But, alas, it'll have to wait once more. My rage boils at this but...we must move. Baghatur Ganbaatar may be waiting for us. Or worse still, he may be under treacherous assault himself. And I shall have no more of our precious heritage defiled by this filth."

"Would you wish to move the bodies?" Kronos knew that was most likely a rhetorical question. They simply had to keep advancing. They were vulnerable in such a small group, especially so in the open.

"...No," the very act of saying the word seemed to cause Gan to recoil in pain. But he stilled and continued. "We cannot afford to weigh ourselves down. The traitors have already done what they wanted. Their bodies will be touched no further until recovery forces arrive. We...will leave them here."

"I see. Then take at least solace in knowing your Brothers traded their lives for 7 and perhaps more of the traitor's own."

Gan nodded. His face was still one of confusion as he put on his helmet. But it was nonetheless better that if nothing had been said.

They began moving, likely following the same trail as before. But now, Kronos could see a waver in Gan's steps every so often. He gazed at the companion on his back, as she too seemed concerned. But, like most of his worries, Kronos would have to slam this shut deep into his mind. Every moment spent here was another moment he was not at his liege's back and call.

* * *

"Emperor's teeth..."

In the past few hours, as dusk settled onto the world, Ganbaatar had come to find a love for cultists. Not for being blaspheming, traitorous psychopaths with no other desire than to please their dark lords, but simply because of how disorganized and weak they were. Numerous rebellions had he squashed during his life which were child's play for one such as him. But this was not the case with their current enemy.

Another Bolt shell tore through the air, with him barely avoiding it. The Chaos Marines had certainly been a surprise, a very unpleasant one to say the least. Ganbaatar cursed in his own tongue as the Marine kept up his fire, waiting for the moment he'd need to reload.

The shooting stopped, and that brief instant was his cue. He rushed toward where the noise had come before, finding his target there. The traitor saw he would not be able to reload in time, dropping his Bolter and engaging an ancient Chainaxe he had strapped to his belt. The swing missed his head by a hair, but the Sergeant was simply faster, as his Power Fist punched through the traitor's chest armor, turning both of his hearts to pulp.

As he fell over, tainted blood leaking out of him, Ganbaatar recognized the stride and sound of his brother, who had taken a far more proactive approach to the situation. Namely, hauling his impressively large Heavy Bolter, as he finally stepped into view, conveniently just as a group of three traitors emerged from one of the walls.

They attempted to bring out their own weapons, but Batu's hand was already on the trigger. With a roaring noise comparable, if not superior to a screeching Thunderhawk, the weapon discharged it's massive ammunition in a relentless burst.

"Suffer the Emperor's fury!"

A fine finishing line, but the traitor's were already dead on the floor by the time Batu had spoken, blood and various other liquids oozing from the hundreds of orifices torn anew by the weapon's power. Ganbaatar preferred not to think of what said "other fluids" were. He knew some of these damned cousins worshiped Slaanesh, and he did not need those mental images. So he settled for something else.

"Great Khan's beard, old friend! Haven't seen you unleash such righteous wrath since the Areos Campaign."

"You may want to save your praise for now, Baghatur. We are boxed in."

Ganbaatar's small smile dropped immediately, as he checked his helmet's scanners, along with whatever information Batu's own had transmitted to them. They were indeed surrounded, with 13 traitors closing in on their location. He muttered another curse under his breath as he looked at his Brother once more.

"Think we can get out of this one?"

"Last time I was facing this many Chaos Marines, I lost an arm and nearly my head. And had a lot more ammo," he actively looked into his magazines as he said it, and Ganbaatar knew he was not one to lie during missions. "I don't mean to dishonor our great primogenitor Baghatur, but...we are outnumbered, outgunned and have lost any advantage we could possibly have."

Ganbaatar nodded as he readied his own weapons for the inevitable final stand. His instruments could not get a precise read on moving targets, but he knew they were coming. And they would be ready.

"Then, let us burn in a blaze of glory, and at least take some part in the purifying fire that shall cleanse this world of it's filth."

"Let us hope our final push marks the start of a song which will echo through the ages, that all shall tell tales of our great Brotherhood in the centuries to come. It was an honor, Baghatur."

Ganbaatar nodded. Poetic as always, Batu was, even in the face of death. "Ave Imperator!"

The Sergeant burst into a mad dash, his brother following close behind, returning his bellow with a roar of his own, only hampered slightly by the weight of his enormous weapon. The wall gave way easily enough, crumbling like chalk against their mighty armored forms. Immediately, Bolt shells flew through the air. Ganbaatar felt he had been hit, but adrenaline and his focus on his opponent prevented him from knowing where.

He shot the first one in the head, killing him immediately. The other two proved more troublesome, firing away at them. He managed by some miracle to avoid the gunfire, but he was almost certain Batu had been hit, despite engaging his own Heavy Bolter. The first eventually fell to their combined Bolter fire, but not before landing a nasty hit on him. That, Ganbaatar _could _feel, and he was more-or-less certain his liver had been wrecked.

But gritting his teeth, he moved on to the last of the group, hiding behind a wall and taking tactical shots at them. A wise choice, if not for the frailty of said defense against another Astartes. He made a mad dash toward the wall, while Batu served as a diversion, a knowing nod all that needed to be exchanged by them.

Ganbaatar took a shot of chance with his Power Fist, directly through the wall, not knowing where the traitor was exactly. Probability seemed to be on his side that day, as the massive gauntlet tore through the marble with little effort, pulverizing the Marine beyond it. His chest had entirely crushed, much of his armor seared and crushed under the power field. One more body felled by the Emperor's wrath.

But it would not be enough. Now, rage of battle slightly calmed, Ganbaatar could feel his wounds, how deep they were. He looked to his own approaching Brother, artificial bionic arm missing at the elbow, and numerous other scrapes and dents across his armor. He was yet keeping his massive weapon aloft with the stump, functioning arm at the trigger. But both knew they would be put out of commission if another such strike came.

And it would. Ganbaatar's visual display showed the vague locations of the other Chaos Marines, heading straight for them. Their fellows must have reported back before being cut down. He exchanged another look with Batu. They both knew what it meant.

_This is it._

At last the traitors strolled into view, each of the remaining encircling them, ensuring no means of escape. One of them stepped forward, likely the leader, and in a voice too gruff to possibly belong to anyone except those touched by the Ruinous Powers said:

"Any last words, loyalist dogs?"

Ganbaatar would not grant the pathetic creature before him the satisfaction of a response. He simply lifted his Bolt Pistol ready to at least take one of the bastard Sons of Horus with him to the grave. Batu did the same, as the traitors all pointed their own weapons.

"I suppose not. Your lot always are stubborn to the end."

As the leader prepared to to engage his weapon, Ganbaatar gripped his own harder, while Batu similarly doing so as well. Then, just as the first shot was mere moments from being fired, the leader stopped.

He looked down at his chest, Ganbaatar following his vision, only to see something inexplicable. A massive slash, basically splitting the traitor in two, ran from one side of his chest to the other. He did not even have anymore time to react, as he fell over, torso rolling ways away from his legs.

The Marines closest to him seemed to have caught something of the invisible force however, turning back and opening fire. It wasn't enough. One was bisected vertically, his two halves littering the battlefield a second later. The other had his head cut clean off.

Only after the three Marines had been deprived of their life by a lightning force could their assailant be seen. His giant form radiated in the disappearing sunshine, blood and dust doing nothing to detract from the sheer gravitas of the armor or it's wielder. Despite encountering the warrior before that very day, an entirely different air was around him.

Gone was the polite guardian that generally kept to himself and preferred to discuss only business. Before them lay the Emperor's wrath, his fury given flesh and mighty arms to wage war against any and all threats to the Golden Throne. And wage war he did.

The Chaos Marines did not remain stunned for long. They were all trained super soldiers after all. They soon aimed their Bolters at the newly arrived threat, previous targets completely forgotten. That was when two more of them were downed seemingly out of nowhere. The first's entire head and upper torso were reduced to a steaming pile of slag. The second's head popped, a small implosion in it's place, very likely a Lascannon shot and Bolter round respectively.

Now fear began to be roused in the traitors, only intensified by the Custodian finally moving. Some aimed their weapons at assailers yet unknown, while others began firing at the golden warrior. Oddly enough, most shots failed to even graze him, and not from lack of accuracy, seemingly being pushed away by an invisible forcefield. Either the wondrous armor afforded to them or the Emperor's blood in full effect, Ganbaatar did not care to know. He only realized they would have to help as well.

He motioned for Batu to begin assaulting the traitors once more, as he aimed his own Bolt Pistol at the ones closest to him. The firing from before also resumed, Lascannon beams and Bolt rounds from places unknown. Now finding themselves surrounded, the Chaos Marines were quickly cut down themselves.

One more, Ganbaatar found moments to stare in awe at the Custodian in-between the firing. The Emperor's Golden Legionary moved with unreal swiftness, cutting a path of destruction without even engaging his Bolt Caster. The Chaos Marines would react to his blows seconds after they had landed, if they were even left standing or alive.

From the chaos, they also saw one of their mysterious benefactors join the battle as well. Gan had survived, and was now making his way to them, Bolter in hand and Lascannon strapped to his back. With one last barrage, the three Sons of Jaghatai struck down the last of the traitors, riddling him with massive holes, watching as the body hit the ground with a thump.

* * *

Kronos had to admit it had been some time since he had a proper engagement. It did not incite pleasure in him, as it did many other warriors, but it allowed him to settle to instinct and that did admittedly calm the more logical parts of his mind to an extent. The torrent of thought he had been exposed to since he had landed on this planet was not forgotten, but it took conscious effort to rein it in.

Battle took those horrid thoughts off his mind passively. And so, in a way, he did lust after it at that point, even if just a tiny fraction. Regardless, that wasn't important now. They had finally caught up to the Sergeant, and much more was yet to be done.

He gave the greeting of the Aquila as he approached. The Sergeant responded in kind. He had a feeling he was far more happy to see them than he might ever let on.

"Sergeant."

"Custodian," he turned to his Battle-Brother. "Brother Gan."

He said something in his native tongue, which Gan responded to in turn. Their chat was short, but Kronos could just barely make out relief in the Sergeant's tone. It was only natural of course.

"Hey! Anybody wanna help up here?!"

He looked to the source of the voice, finding his charge situated atop a building. He turned to stare at Gan, the only other person to be with her.

"I placed her there," he replied bluntly. "The elevated position would likely keep her safe from anything going on down here. Plus, she could provide some degree of support with the Bolt Pistol, just as she did."

"That girl has quite the shot," it was rare to hear praise from an Astartes directed towards a common man, let alone a mere adolescent girl. Yet as Batu said as such, Kronos could help but let a small smile slip from his lips.

Gan retrieved the child from the building, climbing and descending once more rather carelessly. For said carelessness, he got a string of curses, though he hardly minded. In the short while, Kronos gave Ganbaatar a brief rundown of what had happened to them, finding their stories to match, as Batu and him had too been ambushed.

He also took the time to explain Mira's newfound weapon as Ganbaatar asked him on it and how they had managed to find them. After a few grumbles, the Sergeant seemed accepting enough, no doubt helped by the fact that the girl had popped at least one Traitor Astartes' head off, a feat uncommon among novice Space Marines, let alone regular humans.

As Gan returned however, Mira following behind, he could practically feel the death glare the Sergeant was giving his Battle-Brother, but he was certain he had enough common sense to keep any criticisms to himself, in the light of the mission. Besides, he seemed to have been reminded of a missing member of their group.

"Tarkhan?" the question was simple, yet it still carried heavy weight for them all, most of all Gan.

"Taken in our first ambush."

A momentary pause as Ganbaatar processed the information. "And his gene-seed?"

"Beyond recovery," he could feel the anger resonating within Gan's voice. "Almost certainly ruined by the bastard dogs of Chaos. Chingis and Khenbish too, they were...defiled, their Progenoid glands ripped from their bodies."

Both Ganbaatar and Batu took a moment to reply. Whether it was simply coping or a sign of mourning, Kronos could not tell, but both spoke with cold wrath through their helms.

"Traitor blood will be spilled a thousand fold for this atrocity," Batu was the first to speak, but he was clearly the least composed.

"Indeed. But first, we must warn the other squads of their presence here. They could still be carrying out their assault without a clue of what awaits them," Ganbaatar's wrath was more subdued, undoubtedly thanks to his age and experience in such matters, but it was still there, until he gave off a sigh. "Alas, our vox-communications have been completely cut off."

"Yeah, Gan and Kronos couldn't contact you guys or anyone else either. Any idea what the Hell's causing it?"

"Some sort of signal jammer most likely."

"Decoys, ambushes, Chaos Marines, now preventing communication," Batu almost seemed perturbed. "We are no longer dealing with any average cultist takeover."

"Blast it all to the Warp. We cannot even contact the Sorsan Astra Militarum regiments for information."

"Speaking of that," Kronos finally decided to speak at last. "We suspect they have been corrupted from the inside as well, and have purposefully lead us into a trap."

"What?" the Sergeant was excusably incredulous at the notion. "All regiments under the operation were personally inspected by an Inquisitor of the Ordo Hereticus and her retinue of Sisters of Battle, the Sorsan ones first among them. Any heretics that had infiltrated were summarily purged."

"Baghatur speaks truth," Batu spoke up. "I was there when the traitors were found, Custodian, acting as a White Scars representative ensuring the Inquisitor of our assistance."

Kronos desperately tried to hide not knowing what an Inquisitor was. He had heard his Emperor and the Sigillite use such a word in the past, but it was hardly in a positive light, which simply further compounded his distrust. He also had no idea what these Sisters of Battle were, or even this strange Ordo Hereticus. Thankfully, he did not have to stare dumbfounded for long, as his charge spoke in his place.

"So, lemme get this straight: the cultists nutbags have been planning this coup for years, maybe decades now. They had the time to set up decoy targets for you to strike, summon Chaos Marines and you really think they didn't get their hands into the Imperial Tithe?" both Marines now looked at the child, but she did not waver. "Hell, don't you find it suspicious that the information you were provided just so happened to lead all of us into a trap?"

"I do not like saying it, Baghatur, but the child makes perfect sense," Gan finally receded from the distance he had set between himself and the conversation. "Our targets were pinpointed perfectly. There is no way the cultists could have reconstructed them into decoys in a few short weeks of them having power. The Sorsan regiments would have pointed us in the correct direction, no matter what...if they had not been already corrupted. Furthermore, the heretics could've very easily been sacrifices, or perhaps even disposal of loyalist elements."

"All of the processed traitors did vehemently oppose against their conviction," Batu sounded nearly shaken. "At the time, I and the Inquisitor chalked it up to simple lying, but many became incredibly desperate. Not to mention, many were reported by their own fellow Guardsmen."

"Throne of the God-Emperor..." the Sergeant himself seemed about ready to sit down from the shock. "You may be right. And we have absolutely no way to contact the fleet of this treachery. They could be attacked from the back, without ever realizing what struck them."

"And with such a surprise, even smaller ships could inflict heavy losses upon said fleet before they are apprehended," Kronos at last felt comfortable joining in again. He would need to receive a covert briefing of everything happening in the Imperium as soon as he could however. "So many ways of inconveniencing even the full might of the Imperial war machine. However leads this Chaos cult is not one to be underestimated."

"Well, then, what do we do? We have no idea where our targets might actually be, and over time I fear even you Custodian could be cut down by the traitors," he hadn't thought of Ganbaatar as someone to fall to despair, even a slight one, but he supposed under their situation anyone would be tested. "With no reinforcements, no communications, and already outnumbered like this..."

"Simple. We march straight to the Grand Spire, and fix all that."

Everyone turned their attention to Mira once more. The child faltered somewhat under all of their inquisitive gaze, but she nonetheless continued.

"The Grand Spire used to be the seat of the Planetary Governor before, well, _everything_. If we attack it, there's a good chance we'll find more-or-less control panels for the entire planet."

"And then, we could shut off the communications jammer," Gan was the first to comment. "We could potentially even disable the Void Shields and Defense Lasers from there."

"We do not exactly possess the manpower, nor the firepower to mount an assault however," Batu then turned towards Kronos. "No offense to you Custodian, but I doubt even your assistance could help us break through what I can only assume would be the enemy's most heavily defended position."

"Well, I ask you White Scar, what other choice do we have?" he left the question hang for a bit, waiting to see if Batu could retort. When he could not, Kronos continued. "With those Void Shields and Defense Lasers, we have no extraction and no support. We either take the shot now that our squad has consolidated, or get picked off over time."

Every White Scar stood silent, contemplating his point. At last, a trio of nods followed, while Mira's opinion didn't even need to be voiced.

"Well, our goal is set then. We march for this Grand Spire, and slaughter anything in our path."

* * *

**Author's notes: **Sorry for that whole enormous-gap-for-ages thing. Procrastination and sorta-kinda-maybe burnout prevented this from coming out any sooner.

Again, not much to say. Wanted to get a longer chapter out for you guys to compensate for said gap a bit. I hope the next chapter will come out on "schedule", but I make no promises. As always, favs, follows and reviews are always appreciated, as I really want to hear you opinion more.

Otherwise, this is your resident nonexistent being signing off.


	9. Raider

Check the bottom of the chapter for notes.

* * *

A servant emerged from the shadowed hallway leading to his personal dinning room. He never bothered to learn their names, although faces did stick out to him once in a while. This one however, did not. They simply presented his light meal, bowed respectfully, then left, all without saying a word.

On many an occasion, he would've preferred some chatter, but not at this moment. His personal war had begun to take it's toll. Of course, from the day he began walkiig this path, he knew none of it would be simple. Ten years of planning and waiting spoke volumes of it, but the combined stress of the entire resistance began to weigh down on him heavily during the last few weeks.

There was so much to be done and so little time to do it that he often doubted if he should even allow himself such small moments of respite as this one. But, as passing out from staying sleepless too long on numerous days had made abundantly clear, he was still human. He could not push himself too far, otherwise all he had strived to achieve could collapse around him.

As he quietly sated his basic needs however, other thoughts frequently slipped into his mind. Moments of doubt were among the most common. Fleeting as they were, it was a tempting prospect, returning to the simplicity of his old life. He was certain none knew who he was properly, and should they do, he could easily dispose of them before going into hiding, emerging when everything was safe once more.

He sighed. That'd be the day. Even if he could go back so easily, there could be no return in his mind. He had been enlightened of things in ways so few of his fellow people ever were. Backing down now would be a betrayal of everything he sought to achieve, and everything he'd come to believe in. It would be betrayal of one's self, of his own nature, so stray thoughts they remained, prevalent as they were.

Fortunately, or perhaps, unfortunately, he was interrupted by the sound of heavy footfalls echoing through the darkened hallway. He knew of several things which could make such noise, but only one presently being there made sense. His suspicions were proven correct as he witnessed the massive form of his Space Marines compatriot emerge from the pathway.

He knew from the beginning that earning the support of the converted Astartes would be instrumental to his plans, but the majority of the Legions were...unacceptable, to put it mildly. It did not help matters that any who worshiped a single one of the Powers usually indulged in that aspect to the point of complete madness.

That made only two Legions possibly compliant with his standards: the Word Bearers and the Black Legion. But neither of them were particularly known for their sanity either. That was when he had been informed of a certain splinter warband by some of his traveling acolytes.

"Zeno," the Marine's voice, gruff and brutish as always, shook him from his recollection.

"Xephos," he responded in kind.

Xephos was certainly a far cry from the rest of his Legion. While still a ruthless pragmatic super soldier bred only for war, there was yet cunning and intelligence in his mind where so many of his brethren had been reduced to screaming maniacs. More to the point, he possessed some level of moderation in his veneration of their patrons, which for a Chaos Marine was nearly unheard of.

In other words, a perfect pawn for his plan.

Of course, Zeno had no delusions about the Marine's true loyalty. The moment he did anything that might appear as treachery, he had no doubts he would be disposed of almost immediately. Talking to him therefore needed to be approached with some caution, albeit he was sure he had earned a bit of immunity to his usual wrath by now.

"I presume you have news for me?"

"Do not take me for one of your common messengers, Zeno."

"Hmm, I presume bad news then?"

He could practically feel the hateful glare Xephos gave him through his helmet, but he remained silent. He allowed himself the tiniest of smirks underneath his cowl, but recognized that pushing any further would be pointlessly aggravating the situation.

"I will have to have one of the servitors cut your tongue one of these days. But, now that you have mentioned it, I do have rather...unfavorable reports coming in."

"Oh? I presumed your Marines would've already annihilated any resistance by this point."

"Had we been dealing with a conventional enemy as expected, they certainly would. However, the White Scars are anything but conventional," Xephos paused for a moment before continuing. "However, there is one other factor that has contributed int our stalling. The one true crux in our plans."

Zeno had to think about it for only a few moments before he remembered who Xephos was talking about.

"The Custodian?"

A nod confirmed his suspicion.

"But, your men had the numerical superiority, not to mention the element of surprise. Could he not have been downed in one fell swoop?"

"Do you forget who we are dealing with, Zeno?"

"Of course not. I have heard the legends, but I do take them with a grain of salt, as with all Imperial propaganda. They are mighty warriors, I have no doubt, but your warband should have no trouble dispatching a single one of them."

"And that is where your supposed enlightenment fails oh so spectacularly, Zeno, for in every lie, there is the tiniest hints of a truth. And in attempting to play the skeptic, you have blinded yourself to the possibility that some lies contain far more truth than others."

"And just what do you intend to say to me exactly?"

"That you have not seen a Custodian in battle," while Xephos' tone had been getting increasingly aggravated by the escalation of the argument, as he said those words, it was eerily calm. "They are the Talons of the Emperor for a reason. Few have been the battles where they have been found the numerically superior force, and fewer still the battle they have lost. A lone Custodian is a killing machine entirely different from an Astartes warrior. They are not merely engines of destruction, they are skilled saboteurs, spies, infiltrators and much, much more."

"You sound as if you have had firsthand experience with them," Zeno knew Xephos was incredibly ancient. Possibly as ancient as Horus' rebellion itself, if the tales he himself told were to be believed. This attitude only further compounded his theory, seeing as the Custodians had not wandered outside the Imperial Palace since the Heresy.

"I have. And I assure you that none of the legends you've been fed by the Imperial bureaucracy are incorrect. Exaggerated, perhaps, but the Custodians are the pinnacle of the Emperor's engineering, sans the Primarchs themselves."

"Then why were you so calm the last time we discussed this?"

"Because I had my own doubts then. The notion of a Custodian being here is ridiculous. I thought my men might very well have misreported, especially considering their rather compromised mental states at times. But, now that an entire squad on the cusp of victory has suddenly vanished..." he paused for a moment. "My suspicions have been all but obliterated."

"Can you stop this Custodian?" the question rang out throughout the cavernous room, seeming to deafen everything else for reasons even Zeno could not place.

"I am...unsure," that was a first. In all his years, Zeno would've never imagined a Chaos Marine displaying hesitation, least of all Xephos. He had to actively try in holding his expression neutral for worry of aggravating him further. "What I am certain on is that you will need to hasten your procedures, Zeno. My men are spread thin battling the other Astartes as it is."

"The ritual is very...intricate. You know that. We cannot afford to suffer another critical failure like the one several weeks ago."

"That does not change the fact that our situation requires it speeding it up. Fail to deliver, and I will leave you to die like a dog at the Imperials' hands."

"That, Xephos, always has been a note on my mind."

"Good," he began departing towards the tunnel, before turning his head one final time. "You will do better to promote it to active encouragement."

He disappeared down the darkened passage, leaving Zeno with nothing but his thoughts. He mused that this was the umpteenth day he had not desired to finish his meal.

* * *

The tenseness in the air could've probably been picked up by a fly. The group was moving in silence through the dense urban jungle, Kronos obviously placed in front. He might've been their most valuable asset, but he was also the only of them guaranteed to not die after a single well-placed Bot round. Sometimes he wished the Machine Cult had gone through the effort of outfitting all Marines with Terminator armor.

A thud in the back of the group alerted all 4 of them, but it turned out it was only Batu dropping his Heavy Bolter, opting to continue with his Bolt Pistol while stomping on the discarded weapon, crumbling it. Receiving their inquisitive stares, he decided to respond.

"I can't exactly wield a weapon like that with one arm. I'm not an Iron Hand," he said, while pointing at his missing robotic limb with the barrel of his Pistol. "Besides, the ammo had run out."

"Destroying it is a bit excessive is it not? I doubt Chuluunbold will be very happy about you abusing the machine spirits like that."

"Ordinarily, I would agree with you Baghatur, but allowing the enemy any claim on our equipment seemed foolish."

Ganbaatar seemed to muse over it for a moment before nodding, as they resumed their walk. As they kept walking however, the tension did not ease. On the contrary, it became suffocating. Kronos could tell the White Scars specifically were jittery. They were simply not trained for stealth, they were hit-and-run experts above all, not designed for long slogs of combat in infiltration missions.

But he'd be lying if he said he wasn't uneasy himself. They were nearing the Grand Spire, a building worthy of it's name. Although corrupted in blood and filth like the rest of the city it overlooked, the structure was indeed breathtaking, reaching towards the stars much like a Hive City, yet with elegant and beautiful engineering rather than blunt, practical mountains of metal.

Yet, no guard was in sight. No cultists, no Space Marines, not even the most rudimentary defense apparatus like turrets or the like. The last time they had seen something like this, they had walked right into an ambush. He had no doubts it could happen again at any moment. And considering that they had encountered him twice by now, it was almost certain they would've acquired the weapons necessary to bring him down in preparation.

As they were nearly upon the grand open plaza of the building however, Kronos put his hand up, stopping the others following him.

"Custodian?" Ganbaatar was the first to speak.

"This area is perfect for an ambush. It is also too quiet. Last time such circumstances befall us, we lost the rest of your squad," Kronos then turned to Mira, uncaring of the slight stagger the reminder gave to the Sergeant. "Are you certain there is no other way to reach the inside of the Spire?"

"Grand Entrance is the only entrance, far as the civilians were concerned," she then scrunched her face in thought. "I'm almost sure the old fuck must've hidden some sort of escape route in case things go sour though. He was many things, but not an idiot. Or well, until he left the whole cultist takeover thing happen."

Kronos nodded. They would need a diversion. There was no way he could possibly see the Spiral not being a trap. Everything had simply been too convenient, just as when they had arrived. But he was certainly not going to send one of the White Scars over, or even himself for that matter. The Chaos Marines would possibly not show up until they had the entire group in sight. Or they might not even be there at all.

Kronos couldn't rule out anything at this point. Yet, as he stood there, he realized he would need to send someone out there. Simply standing there would do them no good, and charging the gate as a group could simply result in a meat grinder.

As he contemplated over the decision, his requests for a diversion were unknowingly answered. A deep thrum meet his ears, seemingly coming from every direction at once. A quick glance at his squad revealed that they too were hearing the strange noise. Even Mira, despite not having augmented hearing, seemed to pick up on it.

The noise became louder and louder, the deep thrum soon turning into a dull roar. Kronos could now tell it had to be some kind of vehicle, but the source of the noise was not made any more clear. Not even his Warp sense picked up any encroaching signatures.

That was when the shooting started.

Hundreds of meters away, situated at the tallest vantage points and hidden in plain sight, bodies of Chaos Marines came into view, all surrounding the Grand Spire. So it _had _all been a trap, and being so far way, their foul psychic stench was not even made visible to him. But, what where they shooting at?

He looked at Ganbaatar, only to see the Sergeant with a small smile on his lips. Before he could inquire further on his concerning display of happiness, Kronos was already answered once more, as the roaring of the engine drew closest now, a white blur passing the alleyway they had taken to hiding in.

The identity of the rider was only further reaffirmed when one of the four columns surrounding the Grand Spire, currently holding one of the Chaos Marines, suffered an explosion at it's basis. It shook, then it fell, taking the Marine with it. Kronos did not know whether he was still alive, but he was done sitting around.

"Now's our chance. This arrival has exposed their locations. Move out and eliminate them."

The Marines did as told, no more than simple grunts needed to affirm their compliance. However, Kronos halted their youngest member before departing himself.

"Mira, you cannot go out there, it is far too dangerous. Remain here until the area is cleared."

Mira looked ready to protest, but as she opened her mouth, no words came out. She directed her gaze to the floor, accepting, but bitter. As much as the job was done, he felt the need to give her a bit more closure regarding it.

"Mira, I need to stress that you are in no condition to help us. Your contributions thus far on themselves have been commendable. But the battlefield is no place for a child, and you know that. Your courage is impressive, but you must always remember that the line separating bravery from stupidity is paper thin."

She huffed again, but at the very least seemed more content now. "Fine."

He nodded, raising himself once more and turning around, ready to help his newfound comrades.

"You don't die until we get out of this, got it?"

He turned his head back to the child, a determined look now on their eyes. He was surprised by the concern, but did not find it necessarily...bad.

"Of course. And you, stay safe."

She nodded back. That was his final battle preparation as he charged into the fray.

The Chaos Marines had already been alerted by his companions, and now they were taking an active role in shooting back at not just the strange rider, but also them. However, having the element of surprise did wonders for the White Scars, as numerous other structures began falling thanks to Krak Grenade barrages. Kronos himself had no time for such implements however, as he punched in the wall of a nearby apartment building, using the leverage to propel himself in the air.

The Marine on top of it did not even have time to react as Kronos landed right in front of him, shoving his Guardian Spear through his abdomen, groans and squelches of metal and flesh being pierced following it. In less than a second, the Marine was slumping to his knees, life rapidly draining out of him.

But the battlefield was never static, even as combatants were lost and gained. Kronos heard the small burst of fire he had grown so accustomed to, even above the roar of explosions and Bolt rounds. He lowered his head just in time, instinct honed through centuries of warfare. It was unnecessary given his armor's level of protection, but Kronos always aired on the side of safe rather than sorry.

He saw the culprit, nearly a mile away, his aim impeccable. But so was Kronos'. The Bolt-Caster on his Spear roared to life as he turned around, even as only two shots were launched from it. The first, took his weapon arm. The second, his head. Kronos gave himself no time to watch the body stagger and fall, instead turning to the raging torrent of battle around him.

Yet...there was nothing. The shooting had died down. The explosions too. Kronos frowned in confusion, as he scoured the cityscape for signs of his comrades and enemies. The former he saw retreating en masse. The later he found converged upon a single point. But, why were they not moving? Why had they taken defensive positions? Were they just as confused as he was?

His answer was soon given however, as he could feel the very earth tremble under mechanical track. Soon, a massive behemoth emerged from the tight city streets, smashing through elegant architecture with it's boxy brutishness, a massive blunt hammer of war. A mighty engine, a Land Raider, had joined the fray, but it too bore the same corruption as it's masters.

A dull black coat was spread over it, symbols unknown to him peppering the great metallic beast's hide, each very likely a venerating icon to the Ruinous Powers. Dried blood, dented metal and daemonic spikes adorned the entirety of the vehicle, as twisted and horrific as the Marines he has faced thus far. No, it was a Land Raider no more, it was a defiled affront to humanity and the galaxy itself.

But the corrupted machine was still a dangerous asset, an asset that began firing in the general area of his White Scar compatriots. Lascannons flared, Bolters roared, and in a single burst a huge chunk of the makeshift barricaded they had been using, a ruined and fallen building, was melted into nothing. Kronos had to act, and he had to act quick. But he knew that even with his armor and tools, charging a Land Raider was an idiotic move.

There was only one thing he could presently think would possibly put an end to the problem, and that thing was Gan's own Lascannon. They were never designed to fire upon fellow Marine equipment, but it's effectiveness was undoubted in his mind. In their current situation, it would be the only thing that could punch through that tank sans the tip of his own Guardian Spear, which would involve getting suicidally close.

But, of course, Gan was currently pinned from the relentless fire of the war machine's Heavy Bolter, and he was in no doubt that the Lascannons too were merely waiting to cool down and shower them once more. Their makeshift barricade would not handle another burst. Kronos had to do something, and he had to do it now.

And then...an idea sparked. He used the tip of his blade to cut off a nearby jagged piece of foundation and wall, roughly as large as he was. He holstered his weapon, and picked the thing up. Concentrating all of his might, he threw it several city blocks away, right on top of the Land Raider.

The corrupted machine's faltered for a moment from their fire, then they turned toward him. That had worked, but it would all be for naught if he did not survive the next few minutes, as Bolt rounds came screaming out of the air toward him. Those were of minimum concern however, as he saw the Lascannons on it's left side charge up their deadly beam.

He jumped off the building, mere seconds before it's entire top was atomized by a burst of unimaginable heat energy. What was more important though, were the other Lascannons. Kronos had noticed that it had been kept pointed at the makeshift barricade the White Scars were using. Clever of the damned traitors, he'd admit, so Gan would have to take the shot soon, if not now before he and the remainder of his squad were cooked.

Thankfully, the Marine did not let him down, as he broke from cover for a brief moment to fire his own devastating weapon. The Lascannon pierced through the hull of the massive machine, but Kronos could tell it had not been enough to fell it. Just as Gan was loading another shot and his squadmates were preparing their grenades however, the Land Raider retreated, it's crew seemingly scared off.

But that did not stop it's Lascannons from having one last shot at the group, whom took cover as best as they could. The blast melted through several buildings, but it had thankfully seemed to missed them by some. The collapsing rubble all around them however, didn't.

Kronos watched as the Marines were all buried under tons of concrete, steel, marble and more. The Land Raider had retreated for now, but that was only one concern among many at this point. The White Scars were tough, exceedingly so, but an entire building collapsing on them wasn't something to laugh at either.

He jumped down from the rooftops, landing with a thud and reaching for the nearest pile of rubble he had seen the Marines disappear under. Thankfully, he found it already moving as an arm emerged from it. Kronos grabbed it, pulling the Marine out of the carnage with little effort, as tons of material shifted away.

He found Gan to be summarily unscathed, for the most part. His armor was a little worse-for-wear, but it was nothing some polishing wouldn't get rid of, whenever they finished their mission.

"Custodian."

He had a slight drawl to his voice. Perhaps he'd broken a tooth or something along those lines?

"Gan," he nodded. Needless consideration, his healing factor would take care of it anyway.

But what did need their attention were the other members of their squad, who seemed to be emerging from their own mounds of rubble.

"Sergeant?"

"Alive," he said it through gritted teeth, but he had no reason to doubt him beyond that. He turned to Batu now.

"And you?"

"I've been worse," all the while he took slightly longer to get to his feet, staring at his missing arm in the meanwhile. "I've also been better. I'll survive nonetheless."

"Good. Wouldn't want it any other way, old man," an unknown voice piped up from his right. Kronos turned to greet the mysterious biker from earlier, who now could clearly be seen harboring the colors and symbols of the White Scars themselves, removing his helm. Shoulder-length black hair somehow rolled down from it, and a remarkably savage if young visage was revealed as well, etched in ritualistic scars somehow deeper than those of the others.

"And I never thought I'd be this happy to see you again, Altan, you worthless maggot," Batu had a good-natured smile despite the insult hurled at him along with his own retort, and Kronos could see that the other Marines too were somewhat elated by one of their comrades being revealed to be alive.

"How did you manage to get here in one piece Altan? With your bike no less."

"Ah, you underestimate me Baghatur. That, or you overestimate the dogs of Chaos that were once our cousins," Altan had a cocky grin on his face, but his voice somehow still leaked with contempt.

"And Chingis?" Gan spoke tentatively.

At that, Altan's smile quickly dropped, as his face twisted into a snarl, yet his eyes were tinged with regret.

"Died taking a shot meant for me."

The White Scars stood silent for a moment. Kronos took said moment to inquire about something that had been bothering him. The needs of the fallen would have to be tended to later.

"How did you know there was an ambush planned here?"

Altan stared for a moment before answering.

"I didn't. I took a gamble. I took heed of the largest and most imposing feature of the city, and funnily enough, found you near it."

"Then why did you charge it with no backup before we came out of hiding?"

The warrior looked thoughtful for a brief few seconds, gazing at his feet and then back to Kronos, a ghost of a smile on his face.

"Custodian, consider my situation: I had to assume the worst and consider all of you dead thanks to the suddenness of that ambush. I would not go out with a whimper. I would drag as many filthy traitors to the pit with me."

"And that is a dreadful use of yourself," Kronos now spoke more brashly, a secret criticism he'd always had now manifesting in the absence of any authority figure greater than him and the recklessness of the particular Marine before him. "That is you greatest flaw, White Scar: honor before reason. You are one of a chosen few among the countless stars and planets humanity possesses, a resource so limited in scope and availability yet ever so important. Worthlessly wasting your lives is a grave disservice to the Emperor himself, not to mention your own Chapter that will require decades to replace your loss."

"I had no other options Custodian. I hope you can understand that. I'd rather be dead than be considered a coward to any extent. Nonetheless, that's behind us. We must focus on the task at hand."

Kronos wanted to contest him, but he did find himself agreeing, if only for now. They truly did not need any further distractions.

"Very well," Kronos said, sparing a glance at the massive tower before them once more. "But our one lead is now gone. I highly suspect they would position the capital of their operation on this place, and especially now that this ambush plot has been revealed."

"I hate to say it," Batu piped up. "But we may very well be doomed to die here."

Kronos looked at the Marine, utterly surprised at the defeat in his voice. He seemed to pick up on the Custodian's incredulous stare.

"Custodian, I have no desire to admit defeat. But the wisest thing is to sometimes appreciate the notion that you have been outsmarted. And we have, many times this very day. Our enemy has used sleight of hand tricks to impressive results. We are stranded here with no support coming. And besides, our fates will be sealed in a matter of hours."

"What?" this was the first time he had allowed himself to show surprise, and to a lesser extent, frustration. "Elaborate."

"The Inquisitor that has come to oversee the operation, she..." Batu stopped for a moment, seeming to ponder the words he was going to use. "Made it _abundantly _clear that if the assault we mounted was not completed within a certain amount of hours, she would call down Exterminatus upon the planet."

"...What?"

Batu seemed to recoil somewhat at the drastic change in the Custodian's voice, but his own did not falter as he hastily responded. "Given the current circumstances, and the extent of the corruption upon this world, I despise to agree with her. But I do. And now that we have no idea how to proceed, that is the most likely scenario."

"I do not believe you can conceptualize this, Space Marine: we **cannot **die here. **I **cannot die here. And I assure, it is not because I fear death," Kronos attempted to keep his voice steady, but all he had been through mixed with this new shock only caused his spirit to roar in denial. "I have been through things that would make the cold embrace of oblivion seem utterly pleasant. I cannot die without my mission completed."

"Custodian, admitting defeat is not a terribly inviting prospect for any of us, but what Batu says is correct. I was briefed by the Inquisitor as well. With us unable to complete our mission, this world will burn. And we will be caught in it's cleansing."

Kronos was nearly ready to snap back at the Marine with bellows of not caring the slightest bit about what an Inquisitor was, when he was interrupted by another voice.

"Not necessarily."

Everyone turned to look at Gan. Altan was the first among them to question him.

"Brother?"

"All may not be lost," he turned to look at the group now, before having seemingly been staring off into nowhere. "Altan, you still posses your bike. You may follow that Land Raider."

"What?" Altan may have been the only one to say it, but everyone had thought it. What could be going in inside Gan's mind?

"A Land Raider cannot outspeed it. Even if it could, the path it leaves behind is obvious, painfully so. You can not lose it."

"And why would we want to send him after it at all Gan?" Batu seemed more perturbed than Kronos would've imagined. Perhaps the high death toll was affecting him, especially in the case of sending another one of their own on his own?

"Because, brother, Land Raiders are extremely precious to the Traitor Legions. They rarely get surpluses of them by the Dark Mechanicum, and any they have is likely a relic from the Horus Heresy itself. They would not treat it's loss lightly, especially considering a warband of relatively little size such as this."

"What are you getting at, Gan?" the Sergeant at last spoke.

"That Land Raider is returning to their base. We find their base, we find their command and their equipment. If we storm the base we can simultaneously behead their leadership and disable the planetary defenses so our forces can consolidate us."

A moment of silence passed between them as all present considered his plan.

"I would be honored to undertake this mission," Altan was once more the first to respond.

"I suppose in the face of our odds, it may indeed be our only chance," Ganbaatar still seemed somewhat reluctant, but he nonetheless turned to Altan. "You have my permission to carry out this mission, brother. Fire your Bolter into the sky should you encounter what you seek. And do **not** perish."

"Please, Baghatur, as if I would ever let Chaos scum get the best of me," that same cocky attitude exuded from him even as he hoped on his bike, roaring off into the distance, with it's noise suddenly silencing despite it not being far enough away for such a thing. Some sort of stealth mode Kronos would hazard to guess.

"So, what now?" Batu had never given his consent to the operation, apparently waiting for his superior Brother's own, but he now spoke with genuine uncertainty.

Kronos himself had remained silent up until now. He figured his earlier outburst had made it abundantly clear that he was against lying down and waiting for death to come to them.

"Simple. We retrieve Mira, prepare ourselves, and once that signal is given," Kronos took a short pause. "We make our final charge."

The entire squad of Marines did not seem in disagreement with this. In truth, Kronos had almost entirely forgotten about the earlier bit, his human "charge" a distant memory. Yet, still one that gnawed at the back of his mind, he noted.

He wondered if she was okay. They were to check on her soon enough of course, and he had no doubt she has smart enough to avoid anything dangerous. But the feeling yet persisted as they moved back towards where they had come from.

* * *

The alleyway was dark.

Dark, dark and more dark. She should have gotten used to it. She _had _gotten used to it.

But, that night, she could still see it as vibrantly as if it was in front of her.

"_Don't get out._"

She sunk her head into her knees again. She hated the dark. It might've been a childish notion, but she did. She did so more than anything.

* * *

**Author's notes: **Sorry for fucking dying on you again, but school, life, RPs, staff responsibilities in certain websites and a lot more got in the way. Hopefully I can get the next one out sooner now that Summer is upon us, but again, don't take my update schedule as consistent at any level.

Anyway, long boi chapter. We get introduced to a new old White Scar, get some more fighting, have the next endgame teased (OR MAYBE NOT) and...that last part. Yeah. Sort of a last minute addition that I will elaborate on further. I assure you, it's not what you might think it will be. Or maybe it is.

As always, reviews, follows and favs are always appreciated (though I doubt anybody is following this anymore since it's been 34 years).

Ahem, jouke. As a side note, I am posting this extremely late at night because I don't want you guys to wait any longer. Exactly three weeks is bad enough.

Anyway, this is your resident idiot writer with no schedule signing off.


	10. Preparations

Check the bottom of the chapter for notes.

* * *

Zeno went on his nightly inspection of the vast, underground complex that was soon to be staging grounds for his perfected project.

He had few kind words for his previous benefactor, the former Planetary Governor. He had admired the man before, but only because of his own ignorance. As soon as the Powers Undivided had granted him the enlightenment he thought he had for decades, he saw the folly of his superior and, indeed, of most of the Imperial bureaucracy.

Yet if there was one thing he could both commend and criticize the man for, it was his sense of grandeur. From the ivory tower he called home, to the extravagant vessels he utilized to sail the skies and void above them, to this very bunker.

The halls were vast and spacious, lit from every angle by perfectly proportionate sealing lights that had unfortunately dimmed a long time ago, replaced with simple torches hung on the walls. The rooms, while drab and darkened by design and material necessity, were still carved with ornate sculptures, images meant to evoke the symbols of the Imperium's might.

That was another thing he would have to commend his former fellow on: his steadfast loyalty. His lifestyle was preposterously expensive even by the standards of the other nobles, yet he had never once seen him succumb to petty greed or arrogance when it came to matters of the Imperium. Whenever the Great Tithe was due, he would become articulate, snappy and ever so proactive.

It was only a shame that the man had to have been loyal to the end. He could've served his plan well. And now, as he looked at the gathered mass of millions of his peers and soon to-be tributes, he could only barely muster the will to continue going.

Some of them were already converted. Many had been converted by him personally and his own acolytes. Others still only joined to preserve their own lives, however long that would be, until "rescue" arrived. Yet still was the rare one which held onto their beliefs even now.

One such soul was dragged in front of him by two men he did not recognize. The figure was petite, dirty and very malnourished by the looks of it. Zeno hated seeing such treatment, even to the ignorant. They were not savages after all, despite what they had to do.

As he got closer, he could pick out distinguishing features. Black hair, roughly in her twenties, sharp features and brown eyes that were currently weeping. He frowned. She was merely a child. She didn't deserve to be put through this. Yet, he had no malice towards the men. They were merely doing their job after all.

However, that did not stop him from giving them an inquisitive look. Even if the woman was to be revealed later for what she was, he was still the one giving the orders after all.

"My sire," spoke the one closest to him, glaring with contempt at the weeping form of the woman even as he spoke. "She carries memorabilia of the Corpse Emperor. She chants the litanies of the Lectitio Divinitatus to the younger ones. She is a filthy traitor!"

As he was saying this, his partner produced a small copy of the personalized version used by Sors. Zeno to this day found it ironic to the point of depression that such a book was being used by the Imperials to practice their faith, as Zeno had learnt it had been all a fabrication of the traitor Primarch Lorgar Aurelian. The revelation of this by his Space Marine cohort only further solidified his disgust at the state of the Imperium.

"In my humble opinion sire, she deserves no less than public execution," the second one said, harboring no less venom in his voice or eyes.

Zeno spared one more glance to the girl before nodding at the men.

"Leave us for a moment, but remain close should I need you again."

They both gave a slight bow of their head, before retreating to maintain a watchful eye over the other captives. Zeno simply sighed as he knelt down to the poor soul, catching her eyes with his own as he removed his hood.

He saw himself as many things, but noteworthy in appearance he was not. A fully shaved head, markings throughout his face and dull brown eyes didn't exactly strike one as very distinct from the vast masses of other priests, Imperial or not. Yet, Zeno prided himself in never being the face, even before his enlightenment.

Before, it was simply as to show to his Emperor how he was not a greedy follower, one enticed so easily by the prospect of fame and fortune thanks to spreading His word and doing good deeds in His name.

After his revelation, it was to machinate the intricacies of his plan from beyond the shadows, undisturbed by the notions of being found out due to his obscurity and his ability to blend in effortlessly with the crowds.

So it was no surprise then that the woman did not see him as the supreme leader of operations there, just as a mere fervent follower of the cult like so many others. In hindsight, it was probably the reason she was as bold as she was.

"Why...why do you do this?" her eyes might've been blood-red due the crying, but there was a hidden resolve to them, something that made him want to turn away from them. "Why do you let us suffer as such? What have we ever done to you?"

Of course, that stare was indeed something, but Zeno had not gotten to the position that he had by being dissuaded from looks, or even words.

"I bear no malice toward any of you, children. I am merely doing what is best for our world," the woman looked ready to protest, but Zeno raised his hand, as he had not yet finished. He was certain part of her wanted to simply yell at his face, and possibly make an attempt on his life, but he had no doubts she was not that stupid. "Your worship of the False Emperor blinds you to the torment he brings upon his realm, as it did once before to me. To cull this disease, I require you, all of you. I wish to make no martyrs for my cause. Never have I once strived to take a life, but my duty demands it of me."

"And what could the Emperor have possibly done to you? Given you your life, a home, a wonderful planet to walk upon?" the girl was now openly angry at him, any grief subdued now that his men were seemingly not there to cause harm to her. "And how do repay Him? By destroying His planet? By sacrificing us to these horrid Gods you follow?"

Zeno stayed silent for a brief moment, considering her points. To an observer such as her, he of course had taken into account that it would seem as if he was nothing but the average Chaos cultists, one driven to insanity in following his ambition and the will of the Dark Gods, even if not present on a superficial level.

Then, he had had mixed opinions on it, and had convinced himself that he would rebuke anyone attempting to paint him as such even in the face of them being caught up in his scheme. Yet now, as the time for action drew nearer and nearer, he could afford no time. He had already handled several other people much like the girl before him this day alone, and it was delaying him.

And as much as he hated silencing other with force instead of thought, he motioned for the two guards to come to his side once more.

"You cannot understand the stakes I play with girl, nor my true intentions," he then turned to his guards. "Take her to a personalized holding place if she is so much trouble. But I do not want to hear any more talk of execution unless she commits a grievous crime. We need every last man, woman and child here."

"Do you think you'll survive from this unharmed?"

The question hung in the air even as she was apprehended and taken away. Zeno began moving again, finishing his final inspection, resolve firm within his mind once more.

Would he survive unharmed? No. Almost certainly not. He would likely burn in the fires of the Warp for what he would bring. It was a fate that although he didn't desire, he had always considered. But he at the very least hoped he could bring his plans to fruition first. Perhaps.

* * *

Xephos was always reluctant in disturbing...him.

Even if he acted as the _de facto _leader of his warband, there was yet one Marine even he dared not to cross paths with often, for fear of his own safety.

Ah yes, fear. One emotion which had all but been wiped off his psyche by countless years of training, indoctrination and warfare. Yet, as he marched down the darkened hallway that led to the chambers _he_ had appropriated for the duration of their current mission, he could feel the unfamiliar feeling of dread grow as he drew closer to a massive metal door, guarded by two of his saner Brothers.

He nodded to each of them, as they seemed to give him a look he knew well by now. It told volumes of whom he was dealing with that even his own Chaos-inflicted brethren were worried about his well-being. He simply nodded to them as they opened the chamber, leading him once more to his possible demise.

The room was not overly big nor exceedingly small. It was just about big enough to accommodate a whole squad of guardsmen. Or in this case, his greatest asset and his worst fear.

Standing in a corner of the room, right next to a makeshift bench harboring his equipment, stood the massive frame of a Terminator, his head hidden from view by the armor's enormous bulk.

"Brother Xephos."

His voice always jolted him. It wasn't supposed to be like that. It was...unnatural for it to be like that. His voice was deep, yes, but it was also calm. Collected. And somewhat raspy. Exactly everything it's owner was not. Perhaps that was why he was so terrifying even to his Brothers. His was a horror hidden under layers of deceitful moderation, a man that only displayed his true attitude in the midst of slaughter or even mild displeasure.

Before him stood the Black Butcher of Khorne. A foolish man just introduced to him might think of him as merely another Brother, by the true name of Kalathros. But to those who knew him, he was nothing less than a daemon in all but appearance.

"Care to elaborate on why you disturb me?"

The Terminator now turned to him, revealing his horribly misshapen face once more. Xephos was a man used to the toils of war, he had seen firsthand numerous times the grave tally it could reap. But looking at Kalathros' face made even him take a step back in revulsion and fear.

It was less like a living thing and more a horrible husk that Xephos would bet could strike a fear into even a Nurglite follower. An ocean of scars and dried blood stains, along with a gaping mouth filled with jagged and broken teeth were the only discernible features on it. That is, save for a pair of eyes, which in truth terrified Xephos more.

There was nothing beyond those cold, black voids, except for eternal animosity towards life itself. Unlike every other Hound of Abaddon, any other Khornate Berserker in general, Kalathros was the only one who was embroiled in bitter hatred and malice rather than psychotic rage. And that made all the more of a threat to his allies as well as his enemies.

While a Khornate follower could usually be steered away somewhat from things that drove them to greater rage than acceptable, and could even be placated at times if caught at the right moment, there was no restraining Kalathros. His voice never betrayed his intentions, and he could seemingly out of nowhere eviscerate anyone he was speaking with seemingly at random, while physically attempting to restrain him was a death wish even more idiotic than standing close to him.

But it was this very unstoppable record that made Xephos need his help, much to his great chagrin.

"Kalathros, we require your assistance."

"Good. I was beginning to grow bored. Thought I would pay a few of our brethren a visit."

"You are not allowed out of your selected quarters at any time unless I say so. You know that," Xephos might've have been pushing his luck with that one, but he had to maintain at least some level of authority, even if it was in pretend.

This was almost immediately proven correct, as the Terminator leaned in on him, his vile breath thankfully unable to reach him thanks to his helmet. "Since when have I ever needed to follow your orders?"

After several seconds of staring him down, which felt more like hours to Xephos, the massive Terminator receded.

"You said you required my assistance. You better have enemies for me, and mighty ones at that. It has been far too long since I have engaged in a proper bout, and the Blood God beckons. He sings to me, in his guttural tongue, of slaughter and carnage yet to be had, and how I am not partaking enough in it."

"Well, I have good news for you then. A Custodian walks among us, and I require you to kill him."

That certainly got the brute's attention, as his expression shifted to one almost thoughtful.

"A Custodian? I thought they never left the Imperial Palace nowadays, cowering there away from all conflict as proper lapdogs of the Corpse Emperor. Though, it yet seems there are courageous ones among them," Kalathros seemed almost excited, and this made Xephos only question his choice. "Yes, this shall be a mighty battle indeed. Where is this Custodian?"

"He will be here soon, should he survive."

"...What?"

"We have sent a squad to attempt to deal with him and his companions. There exists the possibility of him being killed befor-"

Xephos halted his sentence as he was grabbed by the throat, a massive armored hand that could reduce him to scrap and bloody bits in an instant if it so pleased it's owner squeezing the life out of him.

"You called upon me to deal with this opponent. You will not deny me my kill now."

"It...is...out...of my hands..." Xephos could barely gasp out.

The Terminator then brought him face-to-face, the dark orbs of pain and insanity that were his eyes boring straight into his soul.

"If his skull is denied to the Blood God, then yours will be the one that replaces it."

He choked him for several more moments after that, before letting him drop to the floor. Xephos gently massaged his neck, and felt with newfound terror that his neck armor had actually been bent and twisted. He doubted the Terminator had put any actual effort into the group and yet it is still nearly managed to pop his neck.

This was why he despised calling upon Kalathros for help personally. It was a humiliating and potentially deadly ordeal, and to this day he still wondered why the Butcher had not simply usurped him. But alas, such thoughts had to be put aside for now.

He had secured his compliance, as loose as it was, but that was simply standard procedure at this point. His job was done, but a battle still needed planning. He unceremoniously left the quarters, openly accepting of the stresses of war over the handling of a berserk demigod psychopath.

* * *

The city had no lights now.

In the past, the darkness was never an issue. The city had always been a massive shining grid, one whose illumination could be seen across the entire planet from orbit. But now, it's streets emptied and it's generators having long since fallen silent, the darkness was omnipresent, suffocating any light that seemed to exist.

The only saving grace came from Sors' dual moons, Cruor and Ira, which cast down a literal silver lining upon the planet. But, that light layer of illumination only served to make the shifting shadows on the walls all the more unnerving.

Combined with that was the sound of total silence. The fighting had died down some time ago, and now nothing occupied occupied the night air. Her hearing in turn had become supercharged, and the sound of her own breathing and heartbeat were the only companions she had.

Well, aside from her new Bolt Pistol. But Mira nonetheless was on edge. There was nothing to suggest either side had won the struggle, so anyone could pop out from those shadows as far as she was concerned.

It didn't help that she hated the dark. She hardly thought anyone would react well to being stranded in it while also inside of a warzone, but she harbored a deep resentment of it personally since..._that _night. She couldn't even sleep well in it anymore, but right now sleep was the farthest thing from her mind, as she watched more shades twist and change in the pale moonlight.

Yet, unlike the other times when she had chalked it off to her paranoia and the shadows playing tricks on her eyes, she felt legitimate movement this time. The sound of mechanized footfalls too reached her ears. And that's when her grip on her pistol tightened.

She thought she could tell outlines through the dark, but not details. In other words, she'd have to decided whether to take the shot or not, as it could be either one of the Marines she was facing. Taking the shot might mean blowing the head off one of her allies. Not taking it might mean being torn limb from limb for entertainment by a superhuman nightmare.

In short, there wasn't much of a choice at all. So, she decided to take the shot as soon as the silhouette stepped forth from the shadows. Which happened fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately in the next minute or so. Panic gripped her for just a moment, before she took a big breath, aimed her pistol and shot several rounds at it.

The figure ducked through most of them, but from what she could tell, he had actively deflected some of them. Hurrying to reload her weapon, a voice stopped her in her tracks, one she had grown accustomed to over the past day or so.

"She has been found."

Mira never thought she'd be so happy to hear the Custodian's voice since she'd meet him. She didn't have much reverence for him, after all, sons of the Emperor or not, that didn't mean they would necessarily be good people, especially from all the tales she had heard of the elders that had lives when the Space Marines had lived among them.

But she had grown to appreciate his humbleness, at least in comparison to what she thought he'd be like, and especially his genuine concern for her. She still found that a bit weird and off-putting, sure, but after weeks of survival on her own, it was nice to have a superhuman demigod by her side, but even nicer to have an actual person to be there for her.

She made her way through the hastily-built barricade that had been erected by garbage bins, bags and other make-do materials stumbling along the way thanks to all the trash lying around and her loss of direction thanks to the darkness.

"Well, you're alive," she hated to admit it, but she did give a small smile as she said it.

"I do not break my oaths, Mira," she'd like to imagine he was also doing the same from the sound of his voice, but he soon switched to all-business again. "We must move again: our final charge approaches."

"Final charge? Towards what?"

"Towards wherever our enemies are hiding. The rider you saw is chasing them as we speak, attempting to seek out their base."

"And you might just be useful in the upcoming battle," only then did Mira notice a second shadow approaching. From the voice she could tell it was the Sergeant, even though she hadn't gotten overly used to it. "That was quite a shot. You might've taken the life of most lesser warriors with it. Seems like you're growing accustomed to that weapon."

"You could say that," she said, scratching her head. Talking to these warriors still came a lot less naturally than speaking to Kronos for whatever reason.

Gan and Batu soon joined them as well. But as they stayed there, occasionally checking their equipment, they weren't doing anything. They weren't talking to one-another, weren't discussing any plans. After a few minutes, the silence started to get to her. And the darkness. It never helped, but in these circumstances it was especially annoying.

"Okay, what gives? Why aren't you guys planning something? Why aren't we moving out?"

"We require the signal from our Brother Altan to move in," Batu responded. "As for a plan however, I'd like to know about it myself."

Kronos and Ganbaatar exchanged glances.

"We're thinking on pushing an all-out offensive. Try to capitalize on the element of surprise as much as possible, and attempt to break through their lines immediately," the Sergeant himself seemed a bit unsure.

"Baghatur, no offense, but that plan sounds...exceedingly suicidal," Batu was first to speak among the others, but they too soon joined.

"The concentration of enemy troops may be greater than we anticipate. They already broke our expectations with that Land Raider. Who knows what else they could possess," Gan was next to speak.

"The warband on this world cannot be that substantial in size, otherwise Imperial command would have taken notice of it before. Furthermore, they are likely spread thinner that we might imagine with battling the other squads engaged on this planet, and have undoubtedly suffered casualties, despite us not being able to communicate with them," Kronos countered. "Besides, I believe we all know why we cannot afford to stall any longer: this planet will be a burning sphere in a couple of hours if we do not act quickly and decisively now."

The Marines were reluctant at first, but they soon were convinced after digesting Kronos' argument in their heads. Mira was not there at all however. She was too busy focusing on one specific line uttered from the Custodian.

"What?"

The question was simple, extremely simple. But something about the way the girl said it unnerved them, all of them, a feeling that was not helped when it was repeated again with greater intensity.

"**What?**"

She lifted her head now, removing her helmet to stare directly at the Custodian. Her face looked haunted, a swirling torrent of emotion in her eyes.

"What do you mean with that thing about the planet becoming a "burning sphere"? What the Hell will happen to Sors?"

Kronos was about to open his mouth as the Sergeant cleared his throat, clearly not comfortable himself.

"Child, do you know what Exterminatus is?"

Mira felt as if something had broke in her. She had to take a moment to return to reality when she heard that sole word. Immediately, her thought went to her family. Her friends. They could all be out there somewhere.

"You can't do that. You can't do that. You can't do that!" Mira's voice got increasingly more agitated the longer she stared at the Custodian. "**You can't do that!**"

"Mira, it is not my decision to ma-" Kronos tried to get out to calm her down.

"I don't give a shit whose decision it is! As long as it's a stupid ass decision I wouldn't give a shit unless the God Emperor himself got off his Throne and approved it. Otherwise, it's still a stupid ass decision! There are still people down here! FAMILIES, FRIENDS, AND YOU'RE TELLING ME YOU'RE GONNA BURN ALL THAT CAUSE YOU'RE TOO MUCH OF A PUSSY TO FIGHT BA-"

"That's enough!"

When Kronos spoke, his voice angry at last, it was not boiling water like Mira's was. It was an ocean of ice that crushed any beneath it's frozen tides. But it receded just as quickly as it had silenced the child. Kronos was many things, but inconsiderate he was not. He knew what it had to feel like, learning that your entire world could be set ablaze to never house life again and potentially losing every person on it.

He had known that pain all too well himself, with Terra constantly at the cusp of a daemonic invasion the scale of which could hardly be comprehended.

He had also seen that pain, many times, during the Great Crusade. His Emperor was just and benevolent where he could be, but his pragmatism was what kept his empire together after all, and neither he nor his Primarchs were beyond destroying entire systems if they were found beyond hope.

Reactions ranged from boiling rage to deep depression, and rarely in-between were always present...if there were any survivors that is.

"Mira, I understand your distress. I truly do. But the decision is helplessly out of our hands. If this planet burns this night, we all burn with it. That is why the only thing we can do to prevent that is to strike now and decisively with all the force we can muster," he kneeled down to child's level, as he put his hand on her shoulder. "You've already proved your mettle with your Bolt Pistol. May we depend on you, Mira?"

She looked shaken still for a few more moments, her stare blank and not directed particularly at him. But then, slowly but surely, her expression hardened. It wasn't one of acceptance nor anger, but determination. Conviction.

"You can bet on it."

Kronos simply nodded, as he detached his hand, looking towards the sky.

"The night sun will blaze. Soon."

Kronos heard Gan's enigmatic comment, but he did not respond himself. His squadmates didn't seem to have any issue with it either. Perhaps it was some sort of saying on their homeworld?

As he was musing this, a deafening shot was heard. Even kilometers away, the impact was yet powerful. Kronos looked at Gan, speechless for the first time in what felt like years. Where the White Scars simply covert psykers or were they simply that in sync?

He shook his head. Later. They had no time now. They had a battle to win, and a planet to take. And finally, his path to his Emperor would be cleared.

He extended his hand to Mira once more. The child stood there, puzzled for a moment, before realizing what he intended. Putting her helmet back on, she climbed on his back once more. He knew she still didn't appreciate this, but either familiarity or the direness of their situation appeared to have tempered any complaints that might've been had.

With nothing but glances exchanged, far more than just words were understood, as all of them broke off into a run towards the source of the fire.

* * *

**Author's notes: **A wee bit of a shorter chapter than usual, but I didn't want you guys to wait anymore, and I'd probably have procrastinated a ton on it otherwise.

So yeah, we're finally gearing up for the final arc...or not. I still have a lot planned for the golden banana boi, but the Sors adventure is going to come to an end soon, I'll tell you that much. Now, how soon "soon" is...eh, we'll see.

As always, reviews and comments in general are always appreciated (likeseriouslyguysimstarvingforcriticismhereplshelp), as are follows and favorites, so feel free to do all that if it tickles your fancy.

Otherwise, this is your resident Skeletor signing off...God, is it late here...


	11. Butcher

Check the bottom of the chapter for notes.

* * *

The massive preparations were nearing their end. It had been weeks since the original incident, yes, but they had been spent not only correcting the mistakes of the past attempt, but also combating the various planetary militias and the few Imperial Guard and Navy forces that were near enough to respond immediately. Not to mention managing the majority of a population in the multiple millions with limited supplies, manpower and even basic essentials took their own toll.

But now, his life's purpose was nearly ready. The massive ritual set before stretched for miles, all the prisoners there being lined up for their ultimate purpose. It almost drove him to wretch, to vomit on the floor at his own heinous actions, the ones he had already committed and the ones to come in just a short while.

But they would die neither in pain, nor in vain. He would make sure of it.

His greatest acolytes were now gathering around him as most of the tributes had been secured in their special containment. They looked toward him, all men and women there, whether fanatical or conservative.

In any other circumstance, these men and women would have already devolved into bickering warbands of different dogmas and and gods. But under his mantle of the Powers Undivided, they had kept themselves steady and strong. Bickering still occurred of course, it inevitable, but it was kept in check.

What was not were the extremists. Zeno wasn't exactly fond of them, but if he tried to get rid of them, he'd have no manpower left at all. The very worship of any single aspect of Chaos incited and indeed even required excess, as the quarreling gods were known to be very fickle with whom they granted their blessings to, prompting their followers to engage in greater and greater acts of worship.

But all fell under the banner of Chaos Undivided. Zeno had to admit, not only were there extremists here, but they were likely even more numerous in proportion, but restraining those of his own ideology was far easier than any of the other aspects of the cults he had cultivated.

Nonetheless, beyond the service to each of their gods or all of them combined, every man and woman in this room had pledged themselves to him. He had established himself as the sole authority among these extremely...eccentric individuals, to say the least. And now, he would them all to their deaths.

"Friends, brothers and sisters. It has been a laborious journey to where we are now. Our road here has been paved with the blood and souls of a thousand of our compatriots and a thousand more yet to come."

Zeno paused at the moment, looking at the crowd, whom he know had the full undivided attention of.

"But, we must not despair. For although the cost shall be great, we are one step closer to the dream we all share: an Imperium freed from the chains that shackle it to a despicable existence, drowning in it's own hypocrisy, terror and ignorance. We may be reviled, purged and forgotten for what we do here today, but our work here will serve as the basis for an insurrection that shall sunder the realm of the False Emperor, of the misguided and the idiotic. We shall serve as martyrs for the new age that follows! We shall be the messengers of a new dawn of humanity, one where we are free to utilize the generous gifts of our patrons to better ourselves and the rest of mankind!"

Uproarious applause and bellowing followed. In all honesty, Zeno had half-expected a dialed down response. After all, the followers of Chaos were not particularly known for their self-righteousness, and he himself knew he was essentially lying to them. But, encouragement was better than them learning his true plan, which would almost certainly end in their rebellion and his death.

He knew he was playing a long and dangerous game, one that he was likely to not survive regardless. But he had hung his head low for most of his life. He would not back down now. If there was one aspect of his speech he intended to carry by heart, it would be his martyrdom.

As the group had dispersed however, going back to inspecting their work one last time, a fellow sister of his own cult of Chaos Undivided burst into the catacombs, running frantically and calling for his name. By the time he had stepped forth from to greet her, she was still catching her breath, but immediately straightened when she caught a glimpse of him.

"What seems to be the situation, sister?"

"M-my lord," she was still grasping for air. The way she addressed him almost made him cringe. He despised such titles, but alas, he would have to endure, as it seemed to be a matter of great importance. "We a-are under attack."

"...By whom?"

"The Adeptus Astartes my lord. There is just one at the moment, but more are expected to follow."

Zeno eyes darkened as he realized the true implication of this statement, one that was beyond the knowledge of his acolytes. If the Marines were coming, the Custodian was coming with them. At that, he began bellowing orders for every person to maximize their speed. The ritual would be done soon or not at all.

* * *

"Die, traitorous scum!"

Altan took the roar of battle to heart. War was his song and he was more than adept in giving it's melody justice. And as he broke through heretic barriers and bodies, he could not be more willing to do so.

He had given the signal to his brothers, and one would expect the wise choice to be taken and for him to wait for the few reinforcements he had. But his heart still burned with righteous fury and vengeance from the brothers he had already lost to the filth he was now slaughtering. Justice for the wicked would not be delayed any longer.

The warriors and armaments he went up against were mighty indeed. Hundreds of cultists, along with several Traitor Marines had lined up in the defense perimeter. The cultists were only currently armed with Lasguns and such, which provided little effect overall on his armor, but their fighting was ferocious and some even possessed higher grade weaponry that packed a bit more of a punch.

His traitorous cousins were an entirely different tale. They were brutal, merciless, without restraint, and backed up by millennia worth of fighting experience along with still-superb weaponry that could end his life with a well placed shot. They were the hardest targets, but also the most advantageous, as they would frequently trample tens of cultists underfoot in their insane dashes, consideration obviously long gone from their minds.

But for all their strengths, their ferocity, their grit and determination, nothing could halt the White Scar's rampage. He was on an Assault Bike, a vehicle he had been bred to ride with skill and efficiency unmatched by even most fellow Space Marines. On his own two feet, he was certain he would've been dead already. But on his bike, he was untouchable. A level beyond most of the warriors there.

And not once in the last few minutes had he ceased the firing of the twin-linked Bolters on top of his mighty engine, nor that of the Meltagun he possessed, a small thing that nonetheless fried quite a few targets, courtesy of his regular Bolter not being operational during driving. With them so far, and the din of battle in his heart and soul, he had felled hundreds of the enemies who opposed him, and he would fell hundreds more.

"Burn in the name of Great Khan!"

* * *

When the reports came in of the White Scars rider tearing through their ranks, Xephos and his retinue were in the middle of escorting Kalathros.

"Escorting" as in keeping several loaded Plasma Guns on him. And even then, Xephos was half-convinced they were only for show. Even if they melted through his armor, the monster inside would remain mostly unharmed...and tear them all to pieces in retribution.

That feeling was only reinforced by the massive Chainsword and Thunder Hammer the Black Butcher carried in each hand, both large enough to require dual-wielding by a regular Marine. But Xephos couldn't concentrate on that now, as one of his Brothers came running to him.

"Commander Xephos."

Xephos gave one last look back at the Terminator, before acknowledging the Marine, one that he recollected went by the name of Sven.

"What is the situation?"

"Commander, a White Scar is here."

"What?"

This complicated things. The ritual was not yet complete, and although a single one of the Space Marines was of no issue, Xephos had no doubt what followed said Marine.

"He comes," Xephos attempted not to take heed of the whispering of the Terminator behind him. It seemed he too had figured it out what the arrival of the Loyalist meant, and Xephos could only guess he was barely containing his itching for a fight by the skin of his teeth.

"How did this Marine even find this place? How is he not dead yet?"

"He must've followed the Land Raider we sent to dispatch the Custodian's group, Commander."

"You mean to tell me the Land Raider was **not **enough to halt them?"

"We did not expect them to be harboring heavy armor-piercing weaponry. We could not risk the loss of the machine."

"And as of his life?"

"We have attempted to halt him Commander, but he is a White Scar and in possession of his Assault Bike. Current efforts to eliminate him have failed and he has overrun the first perimeter. We have no significant presence there beyond lightly armed and armored infantry."

"Correct me if I am wrong, but the first perimeter contained over 300 cultists and one of our own squads of five?" Xephos did not even attempt to hide his ire this time.

"Yes Commander."

It took all of his self-restraint to not throttle the Marine right then and there. He expected this kind of incompetence from a fledgling Imperial Guard regiment, not his own superbly trained, armed and armored troops.

It appeared the ancient Terran saying was yet true: if you wanted something done right, you did it yourself. He motioned for his squad to follow him, Kalathros in tow. Just as they were approaching a massive lift to take them to the surface from their underground station, a vox-comm could be heard coming through his helm, which he responded to.

"Commander Xephos here."

"Commander, Brother Emiel speaking."

"Report," Xephos already had a bad feeling regarding this transmission.

"The White Scars are here, Commander. The Custodian is with them."

At that, Xephos could only do so much as to not crush the vox-caster or punch through the nearest wall. The matter was only exasperated by the massive Terminator releasing an amused _huff_. How good was his hearing anyway?

"Engage all of our assets, do not allow them to breach the lower levels at any cost."

"Yes, Commander."

"Xephos out."

He stood silent for a few more moments as they entered the lift. The Terminator however would not take his eyes off of him, however. After what had already happened, perhaps out of frustration or stress, Xephos decided to speak to him.

"It seems you are getting everything you wanted."

"...Indeed. This shall be a glorious battle."

"You are unbelievable in your single-mindedness."

"And I could say the same for you in incompetence."

Xephos would've pushed it, but he decided it'd be better to focus on not risking his life uselessly and instead tearing Zeno a new one, if only verbally at this point, but he was certain he would have the chance to get physical soon enough as well.

In absence of the opportunity at present however, he opted for his Vox, dialed to the frequency of his unfortunate underling. The reply was swift, as per usual. Some habits died hard, even in the face of catastrophe it seemed.

"Zeno speaking."

"Finalize your project or the deal is off. And so too, shall be your head."

Xephos then broke the connection. It had been brief, perhaps even idiotic-looking to any nearby observer, but the both of them knew exactly what their roles were in all this. Some active encouragement would go far in getting the little man to quicken his work. Or, at the very least, Xephos hoped so, for the little man's own good.

As the din of battle grew louder and closer, he could see the Terminator behind practically shivering in excitement. If he had not been one of the greatest killing machines Xephos had ever seen, he would've had him killed already. And probably die himself in the process, as he hardly believed the spiteful bastard would allow himself to burn in the Warp without dragging him as well.

* * *

"Took you long enough!"

Even whilst screaming at the top of his lungs, Altan was doubtful any of his recently arrived companions could hear him. After all, their hearing might've been enhanced, but the roar of war around them did not make it easy to pick out any singular thing.

It did not matter however, as he saw his brothers and the Custodian tear apart at the hordes of cultists that were now springing forth from the complex. They were better armed and armored at the very least, and their numbers now easily breached the thousands, but it was still poultry compared to the might of the Emperor's Swords.

He roared once more, the twin-linked Bolters on his Assault Bike having run out of ammo at this point. It didn't matter as his Meltagun burned to life once more. A good Space Marine always had a way to rip apart, blow up, slash, shoot and generally slaughter the enemies of mankind, a lesson Altan had learned by heart and was eager to use whenever the opportunity presented itself. And thankfully, the traitors he faced now were even lightly-armored enough to allow even some spine-breaking backhands.

This could be a fine day indeed, and perhaps the souls of the fallen could be payed back in full yet.

* * *

As the battle began, Kronos noted it was more a slaughter than anything else.

Their arrival had been swift and merciless. His allies tore into the enemy cultists like a pack of wild Fenrisian wolves set upon fleeing cattle. The blood rained like an apocalyptic vision. The Scars' pent up frustration and hatred for those that had so thoroughly outmaneuvered and humiliated them had come back tenfold. Of course their enemies were little more than fodder at this point, but the savage efficiency with which they dispatched them was something to behold.

Truly, the Sons of the Khan had not lost their edge at all during the 100 centuries he had been cast adrift in the miasma of madness that was the Warp. But as they carved their way through hundreds of cultists, competent military in any other engagement, but utterly useless against the enraged demigods, Kronos felt no anger. No hatred. Just cold contempt and indifference. To him, a traitor was deserving of a Bolt shell through the head, and nothing more. It was better to discard them as the worthless filth they had become rather than give them anymore thought.

He had to note that despite the careful and tactical nature of the besieged beforehand, they were falling apart like any normal militia under the threat of the superlative warriors of the Emperor. Their leader may have been a steady and wise guiding hand, but in direct confrontation they simply were no match.

The Astartes that came after them fared little better. They had clearly been caught off guard as well, and without the presence of any heavy weapons, Kronos was free to engage with no hesitation. They were strong yes, and they did give some trouble to his allies, but they all fell like cardboard figurines before his might. All the while, Bolt rounds from afar peppered the mutated monsters that had once been the scions of the Emperor.

He had still been reluctant within his mind for Mira to join them, even if she was staying far behind the front lines, providing only cover fire. He had allowed her to only shoot at the Astartes. He had no doubts at her resolve, her will or her ability to get the job done. But she was still a child. She had only killed people when it was absolutely integral to her own survival.

Yet, nonetheless, the spite within her heart seemed to be enough anyway, as Bolt shells tore through the regular cultists as well. As another Traitor Astartes approached however, he realized he would have to get his mind away from the child. She was in no immediate danger...well, in as little immediate danger as their situation could provide, and they still had a war to win.

The Marine lunged at him with a Chainsword, intent on taking his head off. It seemed that in all his devotion to his Ruinous Gods, he had forgotten what a Custodian truly was by comparison, as Kronos parried the weapon with his own, rendering it's blades useless in the process, before grasping the traitor's head with his arm faster than what he could react.

The Marine struggled feebly against the grip, but it didn't matter as Kronos simply squeezed with all his might. The ceramite armor, once a formidable bastion against most weapons that the galaxy could throw at it, quickly crumbled under the sheer pressure of the Custodian's inhuman strength.

The Marine's head burst in a shower of blood and gore, his final desperate scream lost in the roar of battle. But just like the other tens or hundreds of cultists he had already slaughtered, Kronos moved past without hesitation. As long as his enemies were dead, they meant less than nothing to him. The second their bodies disgraced the floor with their filthy presence they might as well not have existed in the first place.

And so they moved past the guards and Astartes supporting them, their tide unstoppable and their resolve unwavering, ready to take finally take back this planet and end this madness once and for all.

* * *

Zeno saw the macabre ritual as he made his way to his personal bunker. The ominous daemonic chanting, the performance gestures and coaxing, the...tributes meeting their fate in mass sacrifices.

This was all on his head.

His knees felt weak. His mouth was dry. And once more he felt his resolve almost failing. How much? How much more sacrifice was needed? How much more blood needed to be shed? To just what length was he willing to go for a gamble before he was driven insane with guilt?

As he stood within the elevator, panting and barely keeping on his legs, his mind was at a standstill. The world around him, the sound of war surrounding from every side was less than an afterthought. But ultimately, one side emerged victorious within his mind, the one which always did so.

He had come this far, he could not back down now.

As the sounds of thousands of sacrifices and even more terrible acts were hurled to his ears however once his awareness returned, his hatred for that line of thinking increased tenfold. But he nonetheless followed it through. He had nothing else left. And he despised it with all his core.

* * *

As Xephos finally made it to ground zero of the enemy assault, he saw carnage not unlike many Imperial worlds he had ransacked before.

Bodies were lying everywhere, corpses potentially numbering in the thousands and even those of his own Brothers contributing to the pile. And framed in the middle, bathed in blood, promethium and sand, were the mighty forces of the enemy.

Just four Astartes, and the Custodian among them. A lesser fool would've underestimated such foes by their number alone. But the countless dead at their feet would silence any such fool. He could practically see Kalathros twitching with anticipation beside him. His wrath would not be abated for much longer, Plasma Guns still loaded on him be damned. And so, he ordered for his retinue to open fire.

The Bolt rounds of five of his brethren tore through the air, peppering the Loyalists with heavy weapons fire. The White Scars on the ground took cover, the one on top of his Assault Bike was not even grazed, while the Custodian simply stood there, his armor deflecting the attempts with soft _pings_.

At that Xephos heard a bellow behind him before he dodged just in time of the large, rampaging mass that was the Black Butcher. Kalathros went straight for the golden warrior, uncaring of the roaring Bolt-Caster directed straight at him. The shots simply bounced off the Terminator armor, only further fueling Kalathros' rage. As he got in melee range of the Custodian, even through the deafening screams of tens of weapons Xephos could hear his savage roar.

"SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!"

With that, Kalathros finally got in range of the slightly smaller warrior before just barely avoiding a swing of his massive spear and tackling him, a brief flash shielding them from sight before clearing just as soon, revealing them to be gone. The fool had actually been crazy enough to use a Teleporter without a Homer.

Xephos couldn't really complain however. Either way two of his biggest problems had been taken care off for the moment and with any hope would kill each-other soon enough. Now, it was ten on four, and with significantly less armed enemies.

He made the signal for those with Plasma Guns to fire at the covered attackers, and they complied. A flurry of superheated plasma streaked by him, the sheer heat energy radiating from the shots being felt even through his power armor. Any protection the Scars might've had was melted away effortlessly, but to Xephos' chagrin, none of them had actually been significantly hurt.

"Bolters at the ready!"

Such ineffective weaponry as Plasma Guns wouldn't be acceptable in a fight such as this. They reloaded and cooled too slowly, and even rooting the Scars out had not proven good enough, as they soon found cover once again in other piles of rubble. And so, his brethren forgoed their weapons in favor of their more ubiquitous choice.

The Scars were showered with heavy fire as their makeshift barricades were ruined in several shots, only managing to survive by scurrying to other pieces of rubble. They took small, sneaky shots as well, breaking out of cover for fragments of a second, but they hardly impacted at all, especially when most of his squad could simply dodge.

However, Xephos had lost sight of the rider. Three of them had been pinned down but the only one with an actual Assault Bike had simply disappeared. Xephos did not like what that entailed. Wherever the rider was, he was planning something. The White Scars never retreated, they never ran away and they certainly never abandoned their Battle Brothers.

Only then did he hear the roar of a massive, powerful engine behind him. Turning along with half of his brethren to witness the sight, Xephos confessed he had hardly seen many more stranger things.

The massive bike had gone in a circle, scaling a collapsed pile of rubble vaguely shaped like a ramp, and was currently flying above their heads. Xephos certainly had to appreciate the creativity, but he had not time for it as he pulled his Plasma Pistol from it's holster to shoot at the still airborne vehicle. His Brothers got the clue as well, and in an act too quick for regular human perception to even attempt to pick up, directing their Bolters at the vehicle as well.

It was a flaming wreckage before it even hit the ground mere seconds later, the Marine one top of it hopefully pulverized by the sheer salvo unloaded into his ride. And just as Xephos felt himself within the cusp of an easy victory, their one minuscule advantage blown into nothing, the Scars only further compounded on this already disastrous day.

The biker, apparently alive, shouted something in their guttural tongue to his hidden brethren as he rolled away from the ruined vehicle, which quickly exploded, creating a concealing smoke cloud. Said smoke cloud was broken soon enough by a massive beam of ionized air and concentrated light, blowing lethal holes through a whole half of his squad before they were even able to react.

Another Bolt round from parts unknown took care of the last numerical advantage they had. If he made it out of this, he'd have to ask where in the godsdamned Warp the White Scars had found snipers.

Now, as they saw his advantage evaporate, they charged from their hiding spots, tackling his brethren before they had the chance to unload unholy Plasma fire on them. He personally was charged by the Sergeant himself, but Xephos wasn't about to be put down by a measly rabid Loyalist with a mere few centuries to his name.

Xephos met the charge head on, stopping the full brunt of a half tonne warrior with brute might, before throwing the Sergeant to the side. He unsheathed his Power Sword.

Unlike many other Astartes commanders Xephos disliked close quarters combat. It was messy, it was inefficient and it was worthless outside of shock assaults. But that did not mean he could not engage in it if the situation called for it.

"You will rue the day you ever stepped foot upon this world, heretic scum!"

The Sergeant's bark gave him no wariness. Nor did his newly activated Power Fist. He had deal with plenty of such boisterous warriors in the past. He wouldn't let one ruin him now, not at the cusp of his victory. Well, at the very least, if Zeno could be trusted.

He had very unpleasant thoughts of the man as he clashed against the White Scar.

* * *

Kronos had had the great displeasure of being teleported without a Homer a few times in his life, almost all of them due to dire circumstances. It was not painful. Pain meant little to one such as him. It's unpleasantness came in it's strangeness, at least for him. It felt as if his entire body had been pulled inside-out and was being meshed and shaped like clay.

Even with that confusion however, Kronos was still a programmed and efficient killing machine, and his tactical prowess kicked in immediately, throwing his adversary several dozens of meters away despite his immense bulk. His first concern out of the way, Kronos almost immediately had to deal with a second one, as he felt himself completely off-balance and about to fall.

Kronos dug his foot into the rather soft metal below him, to establish at least some security before righting himself. Immediately upon doing so, he took heed of his surroundings, and was shocked to see how far off the ground they now were. Doing some quick math in his head, he estimated they were at a minimum altitude of 1.2 kilometers. Couple with the marble-white nature of the structure and the sheer dominance it presented above everything else in the city, he was almost certain they were on top of the Grand Spire.

What he also did not fail to take notice of was the massive Terminator recovering quickly from his throw, somehow having avoided tumbling off the awkward shape of the spire they were standing upon.

"You teleported us to the top of the Grand Spire? You're even more of a frothing berserker that I imagined. Gravity will be your enemy just as much as I will."

Kronos hoped he could drive that warrior into a rage, one uncontrollable like most of his fellow worshipers.

Khorne was a name known to him very well by this point. The Ruinous Powers were all equally despicable by him, but Khorne was first among those equals. From being the one whose daemons first condemned, to having possibly the most grueling tortures while he was trapped in the pit of insanity between realms that was the Warp. They were often short and efficient, but excruciatingly painful to an almost maddening degree.

He felt the stench of the Blood God on the warrior, and his previous battle cry had only confirmed it, leaving a bitter hatred in his heart. A reminder of something 10,000 years past that felt like yesterday, mostly because to him, it _was _yesterday. So he played to his tune, for he knew that once the opponent had lost their cool, they had the battle as well.

Yet, the warrior did not unleash a might wail of murder, nor charge at him blindly. Instead, he simply grumbled under his breath as he revved his mighty Chainaxe.

"Your tongue may be sharp and your reflexes sharper Custodian. But let's see how well you prove your mettle against a worthy opponent," he then got into a charging stance, while Kronos took his own defensive one. "No distractions. No escapes. Merely me and you, a duel to the death. And either way, a great skull shall grace the Blood God's throne this day."

"I hope you're ready to die a martyr to your patron's cause then."

The Terminator granted him no further response as he strode forth at unimaginable speed, as Kronos braced himself.

* * *

Zeno looked upon his grisly masterpiece as it neared completion, daemonic seals being ignited by bursts of warpfire and the last of his cultist's sacrificing themselves along with their charges. As the wails of the living were drowned out by the wails of the Neverborn, Zeno feared for his soul.

He truly did.

* * *

**Author's notes: **Wow, three whole cliffhangers at the end of just one chapter. Am I on a roll or what?

Sorry for the rather egregious delay. I'll come out and say it flat that my passion for this fic is not the same as it was several months ago, but nonetheless, I am indeed determined to see it to it's end...however long that will take (and believe me it will take a long time).

Anyway, we're nearing the end of the Sors "arc" if you will, as I've said previously. I will say tho...if you've gotten even a little bit attached to some of these guys, get ready for a doozy cause at least a few of them are...well, you can guess.

That's all I have for now. As always, favs, follows and especially reviews are always appreciated. I really want to hear what you guys have to say about this fic, whether good or bad, as long as it's constructive.

So, see you when I see you. Boneman signing off.


	12. Scouring

Check the bottom of the chapter for notes.

* * *

Kronos possessed many traits, both good and bad. Arrogance he'd prefer to think he was lacking particularly in. Yet the notion of fighting against a mere Terminator was boosting of his confidence immensely. While they were superlative warriors and paragons of battle, with hundreds of years of service each, every Marine encased in Tactical Dreadnought armor struggled from one fatal deficiency that made them comparatively easy prey for any Custodian: their speed.

Terminators sacrificed their mobility for durability, and made for excellent line-breakers and practical walking tanks due to it. But they were nothing before the might of Auramite armor, which not only improved upon the mobility of standard Power armor but also possessed monstrous strength and toughness above even that of any Terminator. It was with this thought in mind that Kronos did not anticipate an easy fight, but at the very least a manageable one. He was wrong.

Immediately the massive berserker charged with speed unparalleled. In a fraction of a fraction of a second, Kronos barely managed to parry the massive hammer and Chainaxe combination aimed at his head. Even as he did so however, he felt the thunderous blow from both weapons, strength so uncontrollable and primal it threatened to overwhelm his own easily if care wasn't shown. As Kronos pivoted away from the brute, he realized this would be no mere scuffle or duel. It was a life-or-death match neither party was intent on losing.

"Surprised, Custodian?"

He knew not how the brute could figure his intent at any capacity, as he dodged another strike. He did not care either as he delivered a mighty blow with the butt of his spear, the force sending the brute reeling several meters back, head cocked upwards. But he knew better than to assume such a poultry hit could put him down or knock him out. It was a distancing strike at best.

The brute on his end responded exactly as he anticipated, the blow not even phasing him in the long term. He turned his optic lenses toward him. Kronos wondered how lifeless mechanical lights could convey such intense hatred.

"So arrogant. So full of yourself. You probably suspected this fight to be an easy one, did you not? And once upon a time, it may have very well been. But the Blood God does reward them who serve him well. And that debt he has raised for me shall be paid with your skull!"

Kronos did not bother to grace the brute with a reply. It would have been satisfying for him anyway. He simply poised his Guardian Spear once more, as the frothing berserker made another charge, this time even more fervorous in his litanies to his patron and in his sheer speed. Kronos met him once more on equal footing, the ensuing clash between their weapons vaguely equating the roar of a Titan's weapon firing. The impact shattered the concrete under their feet, large spider webs of cracks spreading across the foundation of the ceiling they were on.

Steel bent and glass broke as the entire Grand Spire seemed to shake to it's foundations from the brawl. But neither warrior gave a second thought to it. They were preoccupied already.

They were tangled up in their own weapons, both parties hovering them right near each-other's heads, prepared to give the finishing blow. But neither intended to budge an inch, as cold masks of war contorted, staring at one-another with almost physical wrath. Steel coil and mountainous muscle struggled against equal rivals, creating a deadlock where each millimeter shifted was a harder fought battle than a thousand bloody campaigns throughout the centuries.

And then it was gone. The delicate equilibrium was ceased by Kronos, who quickly sidestepped to avoid the impending blows aimed to turn his head into paste. He then used the opportunity to thrust his spear directly into his attacker, hoping to get as many organs in one go as possible. Yet, he underestimated the Terminator's sheer resolve, along with his reflexes.

The brute's arm shot up to meet the tip of his spear. The absurdly sharp blade along with it's power field tore through armor and flesh with minimal effort, impaling the forearm. But the brute did not even hesitate from the pain. He also didn't allow for the blade to do any more damage, grabbing a hold of the shaft with his hand, which was somehow still functional, and had dropped the Chainaxe by instinct.

Kronos would've marveled at his sheer resilience had he had the time. But, now all that mattered was disabling that arm. A lost limb in a duel like this meant certain death. But the Terminator was not about to give him any leeway. Using the split second before the might of both of the Custodian's hands could cleave straight through his own, the brute used his free hand to attempt to deliver a blow with his Thunder Hammer.

Kronos saw the hit coming. But he could not dodge in time. Instead, he retracted his spear, causing even more damage to the forearm. Putting in front of him in a blocking position, Kronos was just in time for his whole world to go spinning.

When he regained a grip on his senses, he found himself in a miniature crater, punched straight through the building. Looking up properly, he had to estimate he'd broken through at least 30 floors. No real damage had been sustained to his suit or himself, but his spear held a most troubling development.

The cables connecting to it's power source had been severed from the impact. The spear itself was dented, but not broken. No mere hit, not even one from a hammer like that could break through the mighty alloys comprising it that easily. But nonetheless, it's power had ceased. His Bolt-Caster and the the power field encompassing his blade were both out of the equation. Now, he would have to rely on nothing but his sheer skill and the monomolecular edge of it's blade.

And just as he was thinking of where his nemesis could be, a slight shadow was splayed over him. Propelling himself several meters forwards, he barely missed a titanic impact right where he was laying mere nanoseconds previously. He pulled himself to his feet in an instant, facing down his foe once more, who jumped out of the massive hole he had created in the ground, his footsteps threatening to shatter the fragile and compromised floor once more.

He noted the brute's arm was hanging limply by his side. That was a minor victory at the very least. It showed that the corruption granted him extra abilities, strengths he wouldn't have possessed otherwise, but it did not make him unkillable. He may have been inhuman even in comparison to other Astates, but he was just as fallible to crippling injury as before.

"Is that truly all? I have been more entertained fighting Orks."

And of course he would try to brush it off. It was a psychological tactic no doubt. Kronos knew followers of Khorne were hardly ones to gloat often. Of course, they hardly were ones to use tricks like it, and yet this one was attempting to get under his skin. Of course, such childish taunts wouldn't affect him, but he did finally decide to give a response to him.

"You keep referring to me by merely my title, brute. Let me give you the courtesy of my name. It is Kronos Praesul, of the 41st Shield-Company of the Legio Custodes. Remember it. Etch it into your skull. And when you stand before your patron in a mere few minutes, ready to be sentenced as nothing but another trophy, invoke the name who threw you there."

He spared him no further words, nor any attempts at retort, as he immediately launched himself towards his foe, intent on delivering as many sundering blows as necessary to knock the brute down for good. The berserker on his own was ready, and did something that almost made Kronos stop his charge.

Using his functional arm, the corrupted Marine ripped off his own helm, showcasing a malformed husk of flesh that was barely discernible as a face, a mangled, almost leathery mask of torment. But was far from the most shocking thing the brute did, as he swung his useless appendage with his shoulder, throwing the Chainaxe into air, as he grabbed it in his teeth.

Mere nanoseconds before impact with him, the brute gave him the most disgusting sneer he possibly could, releasing a huff of air. If he was asked to describe hate personified, the Custodian would likely have that image chief on his mind. Yet what Kronos was nearly shocked to see was him truly going forward with the mouth weapon idea.

As both warriors crashed against one-another, the building, mighty and proud as it was, rumbled once more at the titanic struggle happening within.

* * *

Ganbaatar spit out blood inside of his helm as a lucky thunderous blow nearly broke his jaw.

Once in a while, the overwhelming might of an Astartes was challenged. Even centuries of service, thousands upon thousands of hours of being bogged down in the worst battlefields imaginable, sometimes going weeks without a single minute of rest, even all that could not prepare one fully for every foe the galaxy could toss.

This one was such an occasion, as the Sergeant found himself pressured by the Chaos warrior before him, a reminder that despite his own experience he was nowhere close to the top of the food chain in the galaxy. Yet he, of course, would never admit this to his foes.

"I do not know whether to be pleased or disappointed at the fact that you are being such an easy mach. On the one hand, I can get this over with quickly and efficiently. On the other, I was expecting somewhat of a fight."

A cleave that would've split his head in two was just barely parried by his massive Power Fist, as the Sergeant rolled away only to immediately fire his Bolt Pistol at the corrupted Astartes. The rounds impacted only with the ever sharp edge of his master crafted Power Sword, and soon the Sergeant found his magazine spent and his foe without a scratch to show for it.

The White Scar had a few seconds of relief, as his opponent seemed to contemplate something, whether it was to do with finding a more suitable method of taking his head off the Sergeant cared not. Instead of worrying for himself any further, he looked to his squad, only to see them in just as much of a predicament.

Batu, wise and of martial skill easily rivaling his own, and despite his opponent being weaker than the Sergeant's, was still visibly struggling to hold off the other Marine, one of his arms a mere stump contributing a lot to that. Gan, despite being a healthy and young Astartes at the prime of his service life, was facing off against an equally invigorated foe with far more experience and more flexibility. As Gan himself had said, he was a Devastator in action and had before struggled with his Assault Marine duties, only barely passing to his own squad after several decades.

Altan on the other hand, seemed the only one doing objectively well against his own foe. Neither of them had a close combat weapon aside from their Combat Knives, and were currently in a deadly dance of blades that would've seemed like nothing but a blur to an untrained eye. Yet, from what Ganbaatar could make out, his brother was pressuring the Black Legionary.

Yet the Sergeant could spare them no more thought as he had to dodge out of the way of yet another deadly blow. His opponent's moment of contemplation had ended a moment earlier, and he had taken no time in moving on the offensive again. Ganbaatar sidestepped from the first strike, but his enemy was relentless.

The next strike was was barely blocked by his Power Fist. A sucker punch to the Traitor Astartes was however, dodged, as he, although Ganbaatar would never admit it out loud, possessed reflexes and a fluidity in his movements even an Eldar would be envious of. The next thing the Sergeant knew, another thunderous blow had been delivered to his head, throwing him back. But this time, he had just enough coordination to grab the ensuing sword strike in his Power Fist.

Securing his grip, he attempted another strike, only for his opponent to simply let go of his own grip. The Sergeant attempted to rebound from the lost tension, only to have a barrage of fists land squarely on his head, each hit enough to tear through vehicle plate or reduce a mere human to paste. The White Scar stumbled back, attempting to land a kick, but only having his leg intercepted, before being lifted and thrown several meters away.

Crushing a wayward stone in frustration, he jumped to his feet again as the Chaos Astartes was brandishing his sword once more, appearing to dust off some of the filth that had been accumulated on the blade from the fall. That, and the odd disinterest from before convinced Ganbaatar that his opponent was holding back, and merely taking this fight as a joke.

He would've goaded him in any other circumstance, but having been shown his place so thoroughly, the Sergeant knew it would be best if he could win as much time as he could. And besides, there was one thing that made a superior opponent as vulnerable as a child, especially one affiliated with fickle Chaos: overconfidence.

The Sergeant simply raised his Power Fist, flaring it's energy field to maximum, as it could now easily be seen across even a battlefield. His opponent tensed, if only just briefly, seeming to prepare for a strike or trick. Yet, when none came, he released a small huff of amusement.

"Haven you gone mad in your desperation, White Scar? Or are you simply attempting to mock me one last time before I strike you down?"

The Sergeant did not reply, instead he waited for signal. Waited, and waited. The Marine drew close now. He would need a response soon if he wished to not be killed now. If push came to shove, he could of course simply dodge or block, but he would rather prefer the response would come rather than having to face off with the superior swiftness of his foe.

And just as said opponent was in practical terms nearly on top of him, he saw his signal. A small smile greeted his lips underneath his helm. He lowered his hand.

"By the Gods, you really have become suicidal. Perhaps I'll even spare you a-" the Chaos Marine had not time to even finish his sentence, as he heard an oddly clear snap and a whisking sound throughout the battlefield. Turning around, he greeted the Bolt rounds careening towards him with the blade of his sword, demonstrating his quickness of hands once more as hypersonic projectiles were simply split in several pieces, the shrapnel left undamaged enough exploding harmlessly meters away.

As he turned once more to his prey however, the Chaos Marine found a force hitting upon his head akin to an entire battle barge deciding to crash upon him. He was thrown back quite a way, and the only thing his confused mind could process for a short time was the broken glass, the blood, and the darkness. Yet, combat instincts and his training made him forget about that relatively quickly, as he jumped a few more meters back before grabbing what was left of his helm and simply tugging it off with as much force as he could, instead accidentally shaking the debris off and letting him see again, albeit hardly.

Just in time for another strike by the massive Power weapon to miss him by inches. He tried to put up some more distance between them, but the Sergeant was the relentless one now, pursuing his advantage like a rabid dog. The previous strike had nearly taken off his head. The next one would not be so forgiving.

Secretly, the Sergeant thanked his young benefactor, once thought so utterly useless and perhaps even detrimental. But in the very moment of his near-death, an important lesson passed from his former teacher, Khunbish Khan, late master of the his Brotherhood, echoed within his mind:

"_By the mere movement of a pebble, a whole army may be buried in the ensuing avalanche._"

He had given these words little consideration over the centuries, owed to the general incompetency of most Imperial Guard and Navy forces along with most military commanders he had come across. But by such a small strike of luck was he now pressuring the heretic scum before him. He was still faster, stronger and possibly more experienced, but his dazed state after suffering the mighty blow had not abated. And that was just enough.

Ganbaatar drew close now, as a Power Fist strike nearly found it's mark. His opponent was reduced completely to defense, far too focused on keeping himself on his feet to bother throwing any real hits, as he had to dodge and weave his way around the Sergeant's strikes. Yet, as he dodged the latest attempt to off his head, and finally threw a weak hit himself, Ganbaatar at last ceased on the opportunity to end this at last.

He took the hit, gritting his teeth at the surprising force still found in his opponent, despite being weakened. Yet he soldiered on, pummeling his helmet, which was already cracked and dented from the earlier with his free fist, blocking a feeble attempt from his sword with his Power Fist, before breaking away the lock and shoving the massive weapon into the Chaos Marine's head once more.

An impact was felt. A minor reaction felt throughout his bulky armor, yet it was not as it should have been. His opponent had fallen to the floor, yes, but the counter-force from that strike should've been greater, even if his whole head would've been crushed either way. It was only then that it occurred to the Sergeant to dodge, a impulse come far too late, and yet just in time.

The pain struck like a bolt of lightning. Mind-searing agony wracked his body, enough to depower any mere man. But he was no mere man. He groaned as he spit blood into his mouth, blood that quickly hardened, becoming more of a nuisance than an asset, but only for his face.

Senses temporarily left useless by the attack, his hands had lashed out on their own, reflexes dependent on decades of experience. And thankfully for him, they had found their mark once, as the Sergeant gazed into the Power Sword lodged deeply into his abdomen, barely grasped in his fist.

Before him, was a sight nearly as unpleasant, if not more repulsive. Before him lay his assailer, somehow having fallen right at the exact moment to avoid a fatal blow that would've exploded his head into thousands of gory bits. Despite this, he had clearly not gotten off unscathed.

His helmet had practically been peeled off by the power field, his face had shallow cuts and bruises everywhere, while one of his eyes had clearly been damaged beyond repair. Yet, even through that gory visage, the Chaos marks could still be seen, nearly as vibrant and foul as the very blood coming out of the traitor.

The very same who was currently trying to swivel and pivot his sword inside the Sergeant, willing to get as many of his insides torn to pieces as possible. The Sergeant responded rather feebly, grasping the sword with both hands, yet with strength sapped from the horrific injury. It was clear he had aimed for both of his hearts, yet that mere moment of cautionary reflex had just barely managed to save the old warrior's life.

Yet as he stood there, a wound that would've killed ten men over still took it's toll, and his opponent, murderous hatred practically coming out as the spittle from his mouth, enraged and snarling, did not shown any sign of stopping, he found himself being overpowered, the Chaos Marne gaining ground and for each second more precious life liquids being spilled.

The Sergeant would have to do something, and quickly, or else he would fall. And he would not fall, not this day, not against this cheap opponent. So he scrambled the limits of his exhausted, delirious, oxygen-hungry mind, only to have a sudden burst of logic and cold reason, just as what was intended when he first joined so many years ago.

He maximized the power field around his mighty gauntlet, releasing his grip with it, before ramming it against the blade as hard as he could in the best angle he could find in such a situation. The first strike did nothing, and he could feel the blade digging deeper. His vision became blurry. The second strike he could barely see as it made contact, but he felt something shift, even for just a brief second. Yet, now his entire world was starting to spin, dipping into crimson and eventually pitch black clawing at his vision.

The third strike found him practically limp, half-dead, and desperately fighting with every last iota of strength for survival. He had no fear of death. But he would not fall this day. At the edge of death, he at last felt tension relieved, before using the remaining ounce of his strength to move his arm forward. He felt an impact, and something flying away, but nothing beyond that. His vision was almost gone. His ears were buzzing ceaselessly. Or was that just his hearts? The smell and taste of blood was thick in his lips, and his mouth.

Instinctively, he reached for the accursed piece of metal that should've been there. And indeed, it was, feeling it still pepper him with pain. Figuring the easiest way would be the hardest as well, he simply yanked at it, and felt as it was pulled free of his abdomen, flying away by quite a bit.

The pain was minimal. He was too tired to feel it. The blood loss as well. He had lost too much already. He stood there for several seconds, which felt more like hours. Each agonizing moment spent steeling his will to not collapse on the ground. The dim roar of battle echoed somewhere in his mind, and a faint smell and taste of blood could once more be picked up by his obliterated senses.

Then his natural regeneration began kicking in. His vision was restored from black to white, and then to a blurry amalgamation of his world. His knees, weak as they were, became slightly more rigid, preventing him from falling over. His lightheadedness receded somewhat, albeit it was still there in force.

He would live. Anything that couldn't kill him in under a minute flat could usually just be shrugged off. Though feeling his obliterated body, how sensation had not yet returned to many parts of it, he could possibly even need augmentics. Yet, that was not what was important now. Around him a battle was being waged still, and he had no time to let himself relax. The adrenaline yet running in his blood, keeping him semi-functional, needed to be well-spent.

Almost 300 years ago, Ganbaatar had learnt an important lesson going through a frozen river of eels as part of the initiation rituals of his Brotherhood: pain was a choice. It was a choice the weak made, a choice only so rarely ignored and disowned despite it's uselessness. To even earn the right of calling himself a son of the Great Khan that choice needed to not even exist in his mind.

And so in that moment he called upon that lesson once more. Funny that, only now did he truly need to call upon teachings he had received so long ago, and had even passed on to further generations beyond his own. He ignored the screaming sensations within his body, every inch of skin and nerve that was not already dulled and numbed by his injuries. He took a step forward, his gait slow and methodical, yet ensured.

His foe was laying on the ground, arguably more broken that he was, as he had not even pulled himself upwards. It had been merely a glancing, desperate hit, yet it had nearly caved in his entire chestplate. The crumpled ceramite seemed constraining and suffocating even from a mere glance, let alone from the inside. But nonetheless, the Chaos Marine yet stood, albeit with all of his pompous arrogance and air of self-assurance evaporated.

Ganbaatar had not gotten a good look of his filthy cranium earlier, far too occupied with the sword stuck in his body to properly evaluate it beyond noting it's snarling hatred. But now, as he looked at the back of it, numerous heretic symbol, scars, gashes and more littered it, some perhaps by the Sergeant's own hand. The fallen foe had not yet turned to face him, so he was not getting a good look on his face, but the Sergeant did not need one. Enough was enough.

He unholstered his Plasma Pistol, charging it, intent on taking the Chaos Marine's head off right then and there. The distinct hum of the ancient mechanisms flared to life, and the plasma was practically dripping from the barrel before it was stopped. One sound sharply cut through the background noise of shots exploding and bodies rolling.

It was as if a muffled coughing first, but then rose in volume, changing it's shape as it went. A muffled laughter now, and eventually a proper one succeed, and the Sergeant had a flurry of emotions overtake him. Anger and triumph both were the most prominent. Yet as he watched the traitor's limp form raised to a knees bent position, he decided to humor him, if only a little longer, as his pistol was still aimed squarely for his head.

"Has you own failure driven you mad traitor? Is your ego shattered and broken, as the very world you tread upon and will die upon?"

Ganbaatar was not mocking in tone. He was above such things. But his voice still dripped venom. His opponent responded with even more laughing. Ganbaatar grew slightly agitated, yet knew to keep his cool. This was not at all uncommon for him. Astartes almost never feared death, chaotic or not, and many took it in kind when it knocked on their door, greeting it as an old friend.

So he decided he would try the traitor one more time for his final breath.

"I almost feel pity washing the dirt underneath my feet with your blood. For all it's worth, a local bombardment might be necessary simply to properly purge this place of your fi-"

"Oh you poor fool."

That was certainly not what he'd been expecting. His grip tightened on his pistol. He had also seen this before. Most of the time it was mere bluff. The rest however...did not bode well.

"You can't even comprehend something so simple can you? Even if you kill me, my job is already done. But you won't. Not now. You've taken far too long already," he then turned his head to meet him with the same vicious snarl as before, only now twisted into a sad parody of a grin. "Pardon my use of a cliched line, but I have already won."

Ganbaatar pulled the trigger. The Plasma bolt streamed towards him, yet as if to compound his words, fate itself seemed to intervene with a powerful quake that jerked his head just enough for the bolt to only sever his ear. Ganbaatar charged yet another shot, yet the traitor was already running. He gave chase, his brain working on overdrive, considering the words he had just heard. Putting those to the side however, his accuracy and speed had been severely compromised by his grievous injuries. The shot missed. And so did the next, as he was left behind.

Yet to his complete bafflement, the traitor did not run further than the largest building near them, scaling it's walls as if he were possessed, and raising his arms up to the heavens as if in prayer. He could be seen muttering something, but even the Sergeant's superb hearing could on pick up on what. Figuring it was best to not look a gift horse in the mouth for the second time, the Sergeant charged his pistol, for the fourth and final time...

* * *

Several kilometers away, a greater battle still unfurled.

Where there had once been grandeur, destruction reigned. Where order had once ruled, chaos ripped all it had built apart. Where brother had once met brother to engage in friendly banter, now two warriors from places and time impossibly different battled for control.

The Grand Spire had fallen, it's fate perhaps a fitting metaphor for the whole world it represented. Torn apart from forces both within, namely that of gravity itself while it's structures collapsed, and without, as the two behemoths clashed with the power to split mountains.

Yet in that very moment, Kronos, currently removing a piece of rubble at least five times bigger than his own body from himself, felt something ping at the back of his skull. As if a foray into a sensation long since forgotten, yet hidden within the labyrinthine gateways of the mind still.

And that's when it grew more. And more. And more. Growing more familiar each second, a shiver went up his spine despite himself. How could there be such a direct reaction? Such a clear vision? Even when confronted with Chaos Marines he had not felt _this_.

He had an explanation within his mind. He wished it was not true. The Imperial Truth was the very blood that flowed through him, but even he prayed what seemed to be transpiring to not be real.

Yet just as he puzzling the horrific possibilities within his mind, he was reminded he had a more local battle to win yet, as a massive Thunder Hammer strike missed him by inches. The Terminator had not even slowed down, despite the fact that his arm had now been completely severed, a result of several well-placed hits. His mouth weapon had understandably not worked out, as displayed clearly with it's many missing teeth, the conclusion of skillful kick to directly to the face, his broken and bloodied nose also a testament to that.

Yet the brute continued unabated. But even he seemed to have noticed a change in the air, as he rained hammer blow after hammer blow in an even deeper blood-crazed frenzy.

Kronos was a man of practicality. He did not believe in "feelings" and "instincts". He considered them the predators that feasted on the guts of weak and sluggish minds of the past, undeserving of a spot in humanity's logical and enlightened future. But now, he could feel his gut instincts as a tangible force. And they told him something would happen in a matter of moments.

* * *

"What in the shit is he doing?"

The battle seemed won, and despite herself Mira was ecstatic on not only showing what she was worth with the weapon entrusted to her, but also being directly asked to help. Getting through the arrogance of even the humblest Space Marine was still a great achievement. Yet she stood puzzled now as she witnessed the scene before her.

The Sergeant had nearly fallen, and although she'd witnessed it, she still had to help the other who were themselves struggling at the moment, especially Batu as his one arm did not do him any favors. When she'd finally had time to turn back to them, Ganbaatar was alive, albeit his injuries were obvious. Yet just as he had the commander of the Chaos Marines in his grasp, the later ran off with the Sergeant barely keeping up.

Mira wanted to kill him on the spot, but only then did she realize all her ammo had run out. It was ammo well-spent of course, having dealt a crippling shoulder shot to Gan's opponent and conveniently setting off a grenade dud right on top of Batu's near-killer, with the former rushing to his commander and the later mopping up the remainder of the cultists along with Altan, who had needed no assistance.

Yet Mira now also stood helpless in watching how the Sergeant hesitated to take the shot. He seemed just ready to, as the madman Marine had climbed on top of a building and was simply standing there, a literal sitting duck almost. So why was he ending the bastard?

The man who'd caused all this. The one who had set her home alight in the fires of war. The one who had poisoned the minds of her people over years. And **now **he was hesitating?!

Mira was half-convinced to shout at the top of her lungs for him to just finish the damn job, when she felt a rumble in the ground. A minor earthquake? Rare, but not unheard of. It did not catch her attention much, but it certainly seemed to do so for the Sergeant, as he began looking all around almost...panicked? Ignoring even the calls of his younger Brother.

That's when the next rumble came. And another. And a fourth. But that was the concerning part. The concerning part was a strange sensation, almost an invisible haze that took root across the battlefield. Steadily increasing, it was almost nothing initially, more like a creepy afterthought, yet it grew and bloated in the back of her mind and on the inside of her heart.

Her hairs were raised on their ends, as rage, lust, acceptance and denial ravaged her mind, making her double over in pain. Had she been in a right state of mind, she would've seen the very complex they were assaulting explode outwards, spewing forth of a sea of flames not of this world.

* * *

**Author's notes: **Sorry for that whole enormous gap for ages thing. Laptop charger died and I could only get a replacement after several weeks. Also vacations.

Anyway, not much to say about this chapter except that it's fuckin' done and I am happy about that. A lot more action-oriented, so peeps who enjoy that, hope I've made ya happy.

As always, reviews, follows and favs are always extremely appreciated, especially the former as I always enjoy hearing what you have to say. I think that's about it for this time, see ya guys next time.


	13. Corruption

Check the bottom of the chapter for notes.

* * *

Batu rushed to his leader as fast as he could through the torn battlefield.

The venerable warrior was running with considerable wounds himself, although dispersed throughout his body. His remaining arm had been broken, his jaw felt loose and the entire right side of his chest felt bruised and the bony plate underneath had quite likely been cracked as well.

He had no idea what foul sorcery had imbued the Traitors Astartes he had battled against with such inhuman strength even by their standards, but he knew that had it not been for the little girl's help, he likely would've met a grisly end at the hands of the corrupted warrior. Batu would be lying if he said he hadn't at first considered the girl merely dead weight, but after seeing her shooting skills, especially with something like a pistol, he had to admit having her around had not been a bad thing at all. Though, of course, he would never admit to her having saved his life.

Pushing these thoughts aside however, Batu called to his leader in their own native tongue. The Sergeant turned his head, but the look upon his face made Batu's blood run ice cold.

He had been fighting for longer than he himself could remember. As an Astartes, the constant warfare all blended together, and the years passed without much consideration. If he himself had to guess, he would say he was pushing his 200s. The only reason he had not been selected for the Veteran Squads was because he himself had chosen to remain a regular troop.

Most of those years he had spent fighting alongside his leader, his brother and his comrade. Ganbaatar had been there for as long as he could remember, guiding Batu as a mere Assault Marine while he himself had been a Scout. And yet in all the years of service alongside him: purging Greenskin infestations, destroying Dark Eldar raids, culling Chaos assault and exterminating massive fleets of Tyranids, never had he seen his Sergeant look like that.

For the first time since he had known him, Batu looked at fear upon his noble features. As such, he was stopped in his tracks. He had seen the man tackling Carnifexes with Melta Bombs strapped to himself, he had seen him beheading Mega Nobz, and now he was afraid? At what, a ruined, delirious enemy?

Yet as he moved once more to assist and question his leader, something felt...off. A feeling, coming from his gut. Then it grow fully to his head, as if an iron bar had been sat on his brain. Then the rumbling came.

Momentarily confused, he paid it no heed at first, attempting to bring his senses to order. Then he saw the look on Ganbaatar's face had only increased in horror, his eyes now bulging, looking around frantically, while the Chaos Marine that had escaped the Sergeant merely continued his strange ritual.

Then the very ground split open.

A torrent of what he could only describe as hot air boiled by the very fires of Hell burst forth from the cracks, easily searing the skin of any regular human corpses nearby and nastily disorienting Batu himself, radiating even through the thick protection of his armor. Once he rebounded from that, he saw before him something that would've driven of even greater men cold.

A horde of Khornate daemons stood before him now, tearing apart countless civilians attempting their best to escape or fight back, all failing horribly. The many fighting back seemed to be driven to a frenzied rage as bad as that of the Bloodletters before them. And above them all, stood the source of the heat, the pressure and the sheer aura wracking the minds of those present.

A massive Bloodthirster, tens of meters tall, with ebony black skin, wings dripping with boiling blood and decorated by hundreds of his own personal trophies, conquests of skulls long past. To his side, a mighty brass axe was brandished by scarred yet incredibly powerful arm, no doubt having spilled the blood of countless worlds. To his other, a massive brass whip, likely at least thrice the length of the beast itself, was dragged on the ground. And in the very moment the creature emerged from whatever structure lay beneath their feet, his Sergeant looked upon it's grotesque form in absolute horror, horror that was reflected upon the visage of his old friend as well, when he realized just what exactly the heretics had wrought upon this world.

He saw his mentor, finally break through his shock, and drawing his Plasma Pistol once more, take aim for one of the creature's eyes. The weapon fired with a cackle, vaporizing the air around it as miniature suns fired in rapid succession at the gigantic daemon. The weapon eventually overheated, and the Sergeant had to cast it aside to avoid the emergency heat dump that could very well melt his arm off.

When he looked once more to the monster before him however, he only found blazing pits of damnation staring back. The discharge, enough to have fried any Astartes in their armor, had barely annoyed the beast. With a mighty roar that seemed to shake the very skies, the Bloodthirster raised it's axe, and swung at the Sergeant.

He attempted to dodge. The first attempt was somewhat successful, if the loss of one of his arms was considered successful. But the daemon would of course not relent with such poultry amounts of blood spilled. He swung once more, and this time hit right on the marker.

Batu was forced to see his oldest friend, his mentor, his brother and leader, torn in half by a blade larger than his entire body. He had no time to roar in anger, even as he felt it's presence well up within him, as a white mass as big as himself rushed past him, tearing a path through the Greater Daemon's entourage, roaring and snarling in hatred.

Only then did Batu recognize that it had been Altan whom had directly challenged the great beast. He moved to shout at the younger warrior, screaming at the top of his lungs that such a fool's gambit could not bring back their dead, only make more of them, but he was not listened to. The young Astartes impressively made his way through the sea of Bloodletters, but not without wounds, as numerous slashes adorned his armor as he moved his Melta Gun from his belt, and directed it at the creature.

As expected, the attempt bothered the daemon as much as an ant biting a power armored boot. But it nonetheless noticed it, as he cast aside the collection of one foe's skull for another's. He swung his other arm, the long line of spiked brass coiling and then lashing out with such speed that Batu could not even perceive it. The next thing he could see, the whip had been retracted to the daemon's side as if it hadn't even moved in the first place, while a far off dust cloud was visible.

It was at this moment that Batu's mind came to a standstill. He was a proud warrior, one who had seen the very gates of Hell itself upon him numerous times, and yet fought on with dogged determination, even drowning in the blood of his own Battle-Brother. But this...this was beyond him. Two of the best warriors he knew had been claimed by the beast before him with no more difficulty than a child snapping a twig.

He was no coward, and he would rather take death before dishonor. But he would not die in vain. His brothers would be avenged, but not by a reckless, suicidal charge. The creature before would burn, and it's ash would return to the wretched realm it came from, but not now. Now, he was a lone man before a force of nature. And he had to move, as he saw the great beast began looking around for more blood to spill, it's appetite not even beginning to be sated.

As he turned around to retreat, he witnessed another white-draped warrior running parallel to him, before switching directions. Immediately as he recognized the shape of Gan, he called out only for the roar of hundreds of Bloodletters and their dark master to eclipse any sound he could make, as the daemon began destroying the terrain in it's own fit of hatred and frustration at not detecting anymore things to kill.

In a moment of desperation, he tried the one thing that had completely failed them at that point. He practically slammed his finger into his vox-comm, with hope he knew not what to make of, nor where it came from. A few seconds of cackling statics greeted him at first, and the old warrior was nearly ready to give up. But then, the feed went live, and the voice of Gan cut through the air like a crisp bullet.

"Gan here. Ukhaalag, it is good to see you yet live."

Gone was no longer the warrior he usually saw, a determined but ultimately introverted and quiet individual. Now, a clear, decisive voice that thundered through the comms replaced him. The death of their leader must have hit him the hardest.

"I could say the same for you, but where are you going? Do you not see the beast behind us?"

"I have already seen enough of my brothers die this day. I will allow no more to be claimed by these foul beasts or any bearing their marks."

Before Batu even had a chance to retort, Gan shut off his comms, accelerating towards the place Altan had to have crash-landed. But before he did, the old warrior saw a gesture from him, pointing towards a building. He did not understand it at first, but soon realization dawned on him, and he remembered they had had one more member to their little pose, albeit an unusual one.

Rushing towards the building, Batu dispatched any Bloodletters in his way, a few shots from his Bolt Pistol mercifully being enough to cause critical damage to the beasts if hit right. The Bloodthirster itself had moved on from the crater it had caused, looking for victims it would not find further into the deserted city.

He reached the building, jumped into the air, landing on it's roof, where he found his charge.

The girl seemed to have been knocked unconscious. How or why, Batu did not care to know as he grabbed a hold of her. In any other circumstance, civilians would've been reduced to an afterthought, something to only consider lightly given the sheer threat now posed to the planet. But considering said girl not only seemed to the last person upon this damned world that had not yet fallen to the corruption of Chaos, but also the only reason any of them still remained alive at the moment, Batu seconded Gan's decision to prioritize her well-being to the same point as a Battle-Brother.

Just as he was ready to jump off and rendezvous with Gan however, he felt a tremor underneath his feet. Then another. And another.

The miniature earthquake decidedly and dreadfully reminded him of the same thing that had happened with the Bloodthirster, and as he turned around to confirm the beast's location, his worst fears were confirmed. Massive purple tentacles rose out of the ground, tipped with horrid-looking biological apparatuses on their ends. And from a crack growing larger and larger on the very earth, a massive spiked head emerged.

"**Hmmm, now where do you think you'll run off to with _my _prize?**"

* * *

Gan had seen his leader die.

He had not been with his squad for a substantially long amount of time, but Ganbaatar had always been a beacon of unity among the many divergent personalities present among them.

Now he was gone. Claimed by this world, as so many more of his brothers were. Gan did not feel rage anymore, despite the suffocating aura of the Daemon of Khorne present there stuffing his mind with thoughts of violence. It was as if his own body had turned on a switch, recognizing that anger and despair would do no good in such a situation. Cold hatred and determination now ran through his veins, a cooling fluid turning his precision and focus razor sharp.

The daemons, heretics, and traitors, they could all wait. The ignorant, arrogant fools who had doomed this world, and the hellish creatures delivering it's final death kiss, they would all pay with their lives. But now, all that was important was getting the remainder of his living brothers out of there. He had lost too many, far too many this one day. He would not lose more.

He rushed to the place where he had landed, praying for possibly the first time since his ascension to an elite Astartes warrior for his brother's life. He found the crater, and inside of it, covered by the sand and dust, the form of Altan lay prone on the ground. He held his breath, until he saw a light twitch. Then another. Cautiously optimistic now, he approached the fallen Marine and placed his hand on his shoulder, intending to drag him through the battlefield if he had to.

Nothing could've prepared him for what came next.

When Gan came to from the thunderous blow, he was on the ground. So hard had the hit been, it was as if his own soul had left his body. The blow had made it through even the cushioning layers of armor and shock absorbers his helmet was lined with, down to his own jaw. The burning pain was only now beginning to set in. He knew of only one warrior who could produce such brute force in a single strike.

Altan slowly rose at the same time Gan himself did, still reeling to an extent from the blow, but overjoyed at the fact that his brother yet lived and was just as hardy as ever. Gan called out to him in their native tongue, a slight smile appearing on his lips for the first time this day. Yet...Altan did not respond. He had not risen facing him, instead remaining with his back turned.

Not fretting, and thinking it was more than reasonable for even one as tough as Altan to still be dazed after a strike from a Greater Daemon, he called out once more. But on this, the second attempt, his brother continued to stand almost completely still, except for maybe a slight shiver that would pass over him.

Worried now, Gan approached Altan, fully intent on dragging him back if he couldn't help it. But as he did, his brother finally began to turn to face him.

At first nothing seemed out of the ordinary. His frame was tense yes, but his armor miraculous seemed mostly intact, with the exception of what Gan could only assume to be the place of impact from the massive whip. It had been blackened and charred, likely due to the sheer boiling heat the Bloodthirster had given off. But as he got closer to him, he started noticing..._things _almost moving underneath the charred surface.

Red. Not the red of blood splashing throwing it, that would've dried up long ago by now. It was a sinister red. Like a fungal pustules, it pulsated underneath the blackened armor. And that's when Gan's senses properly went into overdrive.

He took a step back, drawing his "retrieved" Bolter. He would not shoot at his brother, not in a million years, but in this situation instinct simply took over. He saw and recognized an immediate threat, an immediate threat that grew more threatening with every agonizing second. Altan began spasming in front of him, frantically clawing at his own helm as if drowning inside of it. Gan grew more and more distressed, unable to do anything to help his brother without risking whatever was happening.

Eventually, the frantic Marine succeeded in what he was trying to do, prying his helmet off of his head in one swift motion. And when he did, Gan looked upon a sight more horrifying than any daemon he had seen.

It was Altan's face, yes, but at the same time it was not. Gone was the determined, stern and yet somewhat overconfident gaze he had come to know. In it's place instead were bloodshot eyes, staring like a rabid beast without any kind of focus or reason behind them. His lips were torn and scabbed, as if he had been biting his lips in a frenzy. Fearful now, Gan called out to him one last time.

"Akh?"

Altan's eyes snapped into razor focus, directed straight at his brother. The beastly tinge seemed to disappear from them for a moment, and for that very moment Gan nearly lowered his Bolter. But then something entirely different happened. With a rush so fast Gan was barely able to process, he was back on the floor, getting pounded by an unseen force, as his helmet's lenses had simply been crushed under the rain of impacts.

His eyes had been spared from the shards of glass thankfully, but he was beginning to suffer more and more the attacker's power. So he reacted as best as he could while blind, shielding his head from the strikes with his arms and kicking with his legs. The first strike was a fluke, so was the second and third, while Altan continued to batter, but with the fourth he managed to stagger the crazed Marine long enough for him to rise to his feet.

He quickly swapped off his own helm, only to be greeted with the sight of Altan scratching at his own face in frustration and anguish, as he slumped to the ground eventually, groans of pain never ceasing. Gan's fears were now confirmed. Altan had been affected by something, something bad. Something he could not possibly imagine.

At the very least he seemed to be struggling against it. And Gan could not bring himself to fight him yet. There was still a battle to be had inside of his mind. He could still help. He had to help.

"Brother! Whatever foul influence beseeches you, fight it! Do not let it overtake you!"

That was all he could muster to do for the next few minutes. It was far too risky to approach Altan in that state, turned rabid by the affliction grasping his mind. And in truth, aside from simply yelling to him as hard as he could, Gan had no idea how to approach him. Never did it occur to him that he was missing his one, final chance at ending this without anymore difficulty.

Altan did eventually stop, slowly attempting to relax his breathing on the ground. And from there, he rose to his knees and then to full height. Gan took a cautious breath. He had seemed to calm down, but at the same time he could not see his face. Yet, he had to try. Trying was the only thing left for him at this point, as much as every instinct in his head was screaming at him.

"Brother?"

Altan slightly tilted his head at that, still not facing him. But it was acknowledgement. Silent, but still there. A good sign at the least. It did not blunt the edge, but at the very least it gave some credence to Gan's hopes. Then, Altan spoke, with voice tired and raspy, but clear:

"It is quite surprising."

That was...one way of reacting to his predicament. Still, not entirely unusual for Altan. He was known for trying to shrug off even most serious situations without much of a care. So he played along.

"What is, Altan?"

"That it took me this long to realize."

"Realize what, brother?"

"How the restrictions of the battlefield, few as they are, leave still so much anger deep inside. Anger that cackles and burns stealthily, waiting for the right catalyst to ignite a fire. But I've chosen to ignore that now."

Gan was beginning to worry again. Altan was never one to delve deep into things such as this. He was no mere fool, but he always focused what was in front of him. Not to mention, Gan had no idea what he was even attempting to say.

"I'm afraid I do not follow brother."

Altan then finally turned, and Gan was horrified to find his expression not only unchanged from previously, but made even worse, sullen lines running through his face so pronounced he looked like a carved stone statue, and eyes practically pitch black.

"I am done holding myself back. My strength, and all I can do with it is the only thing that matters. The Chapter, you, everything is merely a dead weight," he then flashed a terrifyingly insane smile, somehow appearing amused and enraged at the same time. "I know not what has been done to me, but what I do know is that I have not felt this well in a long time. The blood...the sweet blood. It calls to me."

Gan saw now how Altan was simply descending further into his own insanity. He pleaded with his brother one more in their native tongue, becoming more frantic in his own deluded attempts to help what any other would see as a lost cause. But Altan did not even consider him. He simply continued, frozen grin growing wider by the second.

"The god...he demands it. I must spill it. I MUST SPILL **IT**."

Gan was at his wit's end. He couldn't comprehend how one of his brothers could fall so easily, so suddenly. Almost without reason. But he did know the reason.

That damned wound. The Chaotic energy, the nature of the Warp-tainted whip, the aura of he Bloodthirster itself. Whichever it was it did not matter. It had done something to his brother. Something terrible, something Gan had never seen for himself, yet knew there no return from.

"Brother...why?"

"Because, I AM DEMANDED IT!"

Any further questions Gan could pose, worthless as they would be, never left his mouth, as Altan charged at him, and brothers became locked in single, relentless combat.

* * *

"What have you done?"

The question rang out through the destroyed battlegrounds, firm yet piercing not through it's volume, as that was normal, but through it's sheer hatred and ferocity. Kronos hardly became enraged in a fight. It was pointless for such a thing to happen, as it only diluted the mind of a warrior like him to something lesser. Even in the cases where all the reason in the world has existed for him to be angry, he had repressed those feeling and approached battle with the same dogged yet chilled determination as always.

But now, the sensation in the back of his mind screamed at him, the foul presence of the Warp so great upon this world you could practically choke on it. Even kilometers away, it was as if Kronos himself was facing the army that had once led him to what he assumed would be his eternal damnation.

The Terminator before him gave no answer, at first, but his face did twist into a smile that more resembled a hateful sneer. With his teeth punched out, his face bleeding, and nearly every bit of his armor cracked, along with a missing arm, he was looking less and less like a terrifying corrupted Astartes and more like a rabid animal attempting to resist euthanasia. Yet he seemed to care little for that.

"Simple, Imperial dog: the will of Chaos. Always."

And at that, and all the myriad of different events he had had to endure on that day alone, Kronos truly felt enraged. He gripped his Guardian Spear tightly, as if wanting to snap it in two and beat the ugly creature before him to death barehanded. But he yet moved forward, intent on ending this farce.

The massive brute met his challenge, with Thunder Hammer still in tow and looking no less intimidating even as injured as he was. The two giants began walking towards each-other, then as momentum built more and more they eventually were sprinting at full speed, cracking the pavement under their feet with every step.

In a time frame so tiny a regular man wouldn't have even noticed, the two armored masses crashed into one-another, the sheer force of the impact sending any sort of debris lying anywhere close to them scattering. Neither party desired to give an inch, and soon they were both entangled in a war for dominance, sinew of steel and actual steel pushing and pulling relentlessly to gain an upper hand.

But as it was, the Chaos Marine had simply been injured more than the Custodian, due to his opponent's skill and his own recklessness. He had lost a whole appendage with which to battle him. And the Custodian, despite not having the backing of a Ruinous Power, still possessed the brute strength and raw talent to finally break the stalemate and shove his spear directly into the Terminator's chest cavity.

He couldn't tell exactly, but he was almost certain he had slashed open both of his hearts, as the Terminator went almost completely limp immediately, and the gush of red coming from his chest did not stop even with the impressive clotting capabilities any Astartes would possess. The only sign of life was his hand, now having dropped the hammer, feebly holding on to his spear.

Kronos placed an armored boot on his abdomen, intending to pry his spear off. But before he could, the brute raised his head one last time to look at his face with the same spiteful and hating visage that he had had since the second he had taken his helmet off.

"You will accomplish nothing now. Your fate is already sealed. And so is this world's."

Kronos wanted to end the bastard right then and there, but instead he pulled him close, mere centimeters away from his own face plate, cold red optics staring back, unwavering and unyielding.

"Fate has no meaning for me, brute. Fate is something that binds and kills the worshipers of false gods like yourself. My very existence here defies it, and I will continue defying it, while you and whatever you've brought upon this world rots in Hell."

At that, Kronos pulled off his Guardian Spear, leaving the body to drop to the ground. He would die of blood loss soon enough. Kronos now had bigger concerns, as he turned to the darkening skies over the city, a feeling of foreboding never escaping his mind as he rushed to where he had last seen his compatriots.

* * *

**Author's notes: **Welp, been a while hasn't it? Sorry about that. Life kinda got in the way, like, a lot. What doesn't seem to help is that I can only write this at a late hour, and school has started up again, so...yeah.

Sorry if any of you thought Kalathros was going to play a bigger role, but he really was just a tool. Even a Chaos Terminator would be damn hard pressed to give much of a challenge to a Custodian, so he was kind of just a means to an end, but hey, I hope you enjoyed him regardless.

And yeah, shit really hits the fan in this and the next chapter. So look forward to that whenever I get around to it. Because with my current schedule I don't think I can promise actual dates without turning out a liar afterwards.

So yeah, that's pretty much all for me right now. As always, reviews follows and faves are always appreciated, and I'll see you guys whenever. This is Spooky Scary Skeledepression signing off (p.s. Happy Spooktober).


	14. Treachery

Check the bottom of the chapter for notes.

* * *

_The Great Ocean was lucid. Quiet. A black sea of infinity stretching in ways mortal minds weren't meant to comprehend. Something was wrong._

_The light of his soul, his presence and power usually shifted the geometric impossibility and insanity of the Empyrean around him. Furthermore, at every corner, he usually observed predators. Shadowy, concealed creatures who would have devoured any lesser skilled navigator of their wretched realm already. But he was no mere observer. Yet, the waves took stranger courses still._

_The whole cosmos before him, or at the least the portion of it within his insight, seemed to almost be holding it's breath, anticipating something. He did not like being in the dark like this. Combined with the Emperor's Tarot giving ominous warnings, it almost certainly meant something deeply rotten was brewing right underneath his nose. The Great Ocean may have been calm, but he was not._

_Running out of ideas at some point or another, he fished out for any threads of fate he could find in the darkened abyss. Distant echoes, or faraway memories, perhaps already done, or perhaps yet to come. Time held rudimentary meaning here. The difference between past and future was strange and blurry. Historitor work and fortune telling was, for all intents and purposes, the same activity._

_He looked through the chaos, searching for the one golden nugget of shining ethereal haze to guide him to what he was seeking. The wait was tantalizing, the echo of the thread seemingly at the corner of his eyes, yet always moving. And finally, after an amount of time he could not pinpoint, he found it._

_It was a small thing, like a needle's tip in width, albeit extremely long. Though it's geometry was less chaotic than all around it, it still wildly flayed about, almost seeming to want to escape his grasp. But he had found his mark now, and seeing through the thread was as easy as breathing to him. And so he made contact with it, being taken to whatever future or past the thread had to tell._

_He found himself upon a vast, sunswept desert, the blazing star searing his mind's skin. He looked around the vast horizon, searching for the object of this vision, the purpose of his deep inquiry into the Empyrean. It turned out all he needed to do was wait._

_Before him, four enormous shapes presented themselves, looming over the horizon as silent, leering obelisks of foreboding. The skies turned dark, and the sands bled with color reflected by the pillars themselves, stretching far into the sky. One was of crimson, the other of azure. One of emerald, and the last of violet._

_The very land began to break at the presence of the pillars, the earth cracking to reveal deep gashes, filled with what could be described as boiling blood. Seeing the vision take such a bad turn, he began preparing his mind for separation. Yet, something else caught his eye._

_Behind him, a fifth pillar arose. At first but a mere spark, it soon grew and grew, eclipsing the four standing opposite to it. It's golden aura united where the other had torn, reformed where the corruption had destroyed. And unlike the others, which had reached for the darkened sky but only gone so far, the golden pillar broke through the darkness, causing the sky to shatter in it's entirety and revealing the true starry infinity above it._

_At that, the vision began to crumble around him, and he felt sinister auras flare to life all near him. He dodged the first strike aimed for his head, and now fully awake from the prophetic dream he witnessed an all too familiar sight._

_Warp predators had gathered around him as if a swarm of Terran hornets with their nest disturbed. It was only natural for them to be drawn to such a powerful soul as his in such a seemingly vulnerable position. Yet, as they would find out soon, fortune was not in their favor._

_A staff of odd runes and tribal markings manifested by his side, a goat skull adorning the top of it, both a totem of his culture and a warning to all those who would dare take him in a fight. Yet unlike it's regular counterpart, this construct was one of willpower rather than wood, metal and bone. Cackling with the energies of his radiant mind, the staff ignited into a rod of lightning, dancing about on his fingers._

_He stood ready for the creatures to make their move. And predictably, even with the display of spiritual force, they were not deterred from their gluttony. The first launched at him, the shapeless horror assuming the form of a vast shark-like beast, attempting to take off his head._

_It was torn into a million pieces by the whips of electricity lashing out on their lonesome from his staff, as if rabid dogs tearing apart an intruder to their master's home. It's soul scorched to cinders, it's foul presence would never again cause harm._

_Only now, having seen their fellow utterly obliterated, did the rest of the gathered beasts understand what they were dealing with. Soon, they began to melt into the background, their forms now little more than streams ingrained into the chaotic cacophony of the Great Ocean, yet nonetheless ones he regarded with extra wariness as he fell into a meditative state, while his body began to stir in the waking world._

* * *

He awoke at last, a sigh of both relief and exhaustion leaving his lips. He was glad his display of dominance had worked so easily, as if the creatures had been that bit more persistent in their hunger, they would've seen he had expended an easy half of his stamina in that one move alone.

His gamble had worked, but one couldn't help but ponder the consequences that might one day befall him, when fate at least stopped being in his favor.

He sighed once more, getting to his feet. Later. These were troubling thoughts sure, but nigh-everything that involved delving into the eldritch structure of the Warp was such a gamble. He had far more troubling developments to concern himself over given what he believed his vision to be about.

He called for his personal zart, seeing him practically materialize several moments later. He instructed him to fetch his servitors, one of his messenger brethren and the current Throne Agent present on the ship.

Several minutes later, the servitors were bolting on the last of his armor, when the two men he had requested arrived. One he knew as Batbayar, a personal servant for over 7 standard years. The other was the rowdy and hot-blooded Thomas Constantin, a trusted member of the Inquisition. After he had relayed his orders to Batbayar in their native tongue, he turned to the stern Throne Agent.

"Tell your lady much has been revealed to me. I will make planet fall soon."

* * *

"Altan, brother please! Listen to reason! We can help, w-we can take you to Nergui! I know the corruption is weak within a mind as strong as yours, plea-"

The first thing he was able to register again was blood pooling from his mouth, already hardening as he pulled himself to his feet, alert and nearly panicking. His brother moved towards unimpeded, his wrath nearly silent, except for the deep throat gurgle of his filled lungs, spittle gathering around his mouth like so many a frothing berserker he had witnessed before.

Many blood vessels had popped in his eyes, giving them the most violent shade of red imaginable. But the stare, the stare was worse. Far worse. The eyes he bore were ones of a predator starved for months on end, now staring upon ample prey after so long. Only the hunger his brother was one for blood and violence, rather than meat and nourishment. He acted on pure bloodlust now, any sign of higher intellect gone, corrupted just as the massive scar on his body was engulfing the rest of it.

He swung his arm once more, unknown ferocity and speed propelling it far faster than he had ever observed before. Gan feebly attempted to block, only to be hit with the force of a speeding Land Raider. He stood his ground, barely, but his brother did after all possess two arms, and another brutal strike sent him reeling.

Many blood vessels had popped in his eyes, giving them the most violent shade of red imaginable. But the stare, the stare was worse. Far worse. The eyes he bore were ones of a predator starved for months on end, now staring upon ample prey after so long. Only the hunger his brother was one for blood and violence, rather than meat and nourishment. He acted on pure bloodlust now, any sign of higher intellect gone, corrupted just as the massive scar on his body was engulfing the rest of it.

He swung his arm once more, unknown ferocity and speed propelling it far faster than he had ever observed before. Gan feebly attempted to block, only to be hit with the force of a speeding Land Raider. He stood his ground, barely, but his brother did after all possess two arms, and another brutal strike sent him reeling.

This could not go on. Altan had always been a mighty hand-to-hand combatant, and with this new treacherous boost in power and swiftness Gan stood no chance. So he simply chose to retreat, and meet back up with any of his companions that may have remained. He would have to extract Altan later, and purify him at their leisure. One thing was for certain, his persuasion was not going to work on any level, as he had clearly observed.

He turned and attempted to sprint. His pride was a small price to pay for salvation. Yet within the first few seconds, he felt a hulking mass pin him to the ground, intent on ripping his head off with both hands. Altan had evidently caught up with him, and extremely easily as well. He attempted to pry the fingers open with both hands, yet it was worthless, as they were like adamantium vices, unyielding and relentless.

He felt his neck muscles flexed and stressed like never before, as if suffering from pulling them in a far too difficult exercise, with the pain and the burn only getting worse as Gan thrashed about, desperately attempting to free himself. His pace became more and more frantic as he felt his crazed brother pull harder and harder. He was nearly beginning to hear and feel the first few cracks in his vertebrae before a final thought for salvation popped into his mind.

The Melta Gun. Altan's prized possession. His instrument of righteousness, burning the filth of the unclean and the unworthy, now disregarded as it's owner clawed at his brother like a mindless beast. He had last the weapon dangling from his brother's body, apparently holstered somehow despite his near instantaneous dispatching by the mighty beast that had felled his mind.

He clawed desperately at his brother's body, attempting to grasp anything in the shape of the gun as he became more and more delirious and desperate, the pressure on his spine increasing more and more as he could practically feel his muscles tearing at the inhuman strength being exerted upon it. After several terrifying seconds of frantically searching, he at last grasped something that fit the general shape of what he was looking for.

Pure instinct took over then. He directed the weapon as best as he could against his attacker, and pulled the trigger. Suddenly, he felt a tremendous heat wave near his head, but the pressure that was threatening to crack his neck let up, and he turned around immediately, nearly blacking out from the sudden loss of force. Yet his stance did not devolve, as he quickly regained his bearing and turned to his brother.

The sight that greeted him was one of a living nightmare. Altan's face, already distorted from his horrid transformation, was now a sagging mess, bloody and burnt. His chestplate, already damaged was now a pitch black mess, barely being held together. But it's owner didn't care. He was in clear pain, and yet his insanity only seemed to have worsened from the weapon's assault. He snarled and growled and roared at Gan, before charging once more.

Yet the horrible hit had taken it's heavy toll, as Gan was effortlessly able to dodge and then trip the creature, which fell with a resounding _thump_ upon the ground. And that was the key word in his mind: creature. After this, the distortion, the suicidal rage, the need to spill blood of a former Battle-Brother despite his already compromised life. In that, Gan no longer saw Altan. A putrid beast was all he had been reduced to, no different from a daemon of Chaos.

And so, without a heavy heart, or even last words, Gan unloaded the weapon upon the monster in front of him, reducing armor to molten slag and blood to steaming vapor, as the horrid, misshapen thing let out a final death shriek.

He threw away the Melta Gun, as if diseased, and looked back towards the helmet that Altan had once worn. The last symbol of his that had remained uncorrupted, discarded right before his spiritual death, one of it's "eyes" cracked, yet staring at him. Gan walked towards it, picking it up and inspecting it with heavy eyes.

"Never again," he said, putting it on.

* * *

"**I don't usually like being deprived of a good meal you know. But, it's all well. After all, I now have two sources to sate my desire for appetizers: you, and the girl!**"

Words could not describe the sight Batu had before his eyes. The creature was monstrous and repulsive in a manner entirely different from the Bloodthirster he had seen rampage before. It's facial and bodily features were adorned with inhuman beauty, the very aura in the air making it uncharacteristically attractive even to one such as him. But for someone trained in the hows and whys of Chaos, Batu could see the corruption laying just below the skin.

A Slaaneshi Keeper of Secrets was among the worst daemons one could hope to encounter. Unnaturally powerful creatures both physically and mentally, they could strip a whole planet bare of it's atmosphere, or just take it over with their sheer presence, enough to win over and corrupt most average men, especially the unhappy lower class and constantly toiling citizens most Civilized Worlds possessed.

A Greater Daemon being here was already sign of a disaster brewing, but now that two had shown up? From rival Gods? This spoke of a far more rooted operation than Batu could've ever imagined. Yet this information would not matter in the slightest if he did not live to tell it. He slowly attempted to back away, only for something to strike the roof to the side of him before he could even react.

Only then did he see the tentacle retracting and the monster's smile grow into a wicked grin.

"**Oh come now. Leaving so soon? I simply can't have that. Especially since that child...oooooh, her dreams, her fears, they are so succulent. And as for you...hmm, the spawns of the Anathema are sooooo dry and bland at first, but you'll come around. All that is required,**" the daemon was practically salivating now, long grotesque tongue wrapping around it's sharp teeth. "**Is a bit of time for seasoning to kick in.**"

Batu truly was at a loss for what to do. He possessed no weapons aside from a simple Bolt Pistol, an effective tool in any other circumstance, yet completely useless before the terror that stood against him. And as for escaping, he was having difficulty even keeping his head clear at this time, the daemon's suffocating aura like a brick weighing down upon his head, whispers and tendrils of desire reaching into his ear and mind.

The daemon however didn't seem to like sitting idly by, and hoisted him up effortlessly with one of it's many tentacles, it's manic grin only increasing the closer he was brought to it's face. He made a feeble attempt at moving his pistol, but found his arms restrained. In fact, his entire body had been wrapped in tentacles sprouted from the already disgusting appendage, digging into his armor, harder and harder.

"**Oh we can't have that. The fun is just about to start.**"

That's when he felt his armor begin to burst at the seams, as pressure built up more and more, and he felt himself as if inside a machine press. He suppressed the urge to scream as he looked on to the horrid thing, handling the child in another slick appendage, eyeing her as a predator would a helpless and dying herbivore. It's eyes however turned back to him, and to his suffering, only increasing as he felt the tentacles growing only tighter, closer to himself.

They could snap him in half at a moment's notice, but such a thing would not please the dark being before him. But instead of giving it what it wanted, he focused on keeping his mind as blank as possible. If he were to die here, he would at the very least die spiteful to the very end.

Ah yes. Death. He had never truly thought about it. Something he always knew was coming, yet never focused on. It was only natural really, for one such as himself. They all already knew the cycle by the time they were inducted. They would fight, they would die. Fated to kill until finally being killed. The glory achieved, the victories and triumphs over the centuries, they were the meaning behind it all. The journey truly did matter, but the destination always remained the same.

In truth, he had no regrets. None that mattered, at any rate. Of course the choice of location for his final resting place was crass and unsuited to him, and the methods by which he was meeting his end could be considered downright embarrassing. But in the end, these were all shallow criticisms. He was dying upon a war-wracked world, after having fought with dogged determination to save it, only falling against one of the most dangerous and powerful beasts known to man. A fate many a Imperial warrior would never possess the luck of sharing.

He stared at the daemon with unflinching eyes, a sign that he would not give it it's satisfaction until the very end. But as he felt the creeping, ever more distorted mass of tendrils probe him, something familiar was also felt. Something greater, something beyond the daemon before him.

And just like that, a thunderous flash and a heavy bang later, he had to fallen to the ground, slightly disoriented and definitely worse for wear, but alive. And before him was a sight that looked out of a vision, a dream.

Where the daemon had been mere microseconds ago, a great fulmination enlightened the sky, the creature having retracted back, it's features having grown hideous and distorted by rage. From the cackling orb of lightning and energy, a lone silhouette could be distinguished, wielding a weirdly shaped implement as tall as itself. The daemon attempted to swipe at the unknown assailer, but a tendril of electricity, as if a snake striking at it's prey, caught it effortlessly, severing the appendage.

The arm fell to the ground, tainted flesh of immaterial nature still sizzling as it dissolved away into Warp flame. The creature did not seem too mindful of it's newly removed appendage, though it's anger did increase as it hissed at the source of the light with an inhuman sound, sending even the hairs on the back of Batu's neck standing. A massive energy build-up could be seen inside the creature's throat, directed right for the lightning-infused warrior.

A blinding beam shot out of it's unnaturally elongated mouth, releasing a sound Batu could only describe as Hell itself. The great sphere of energy seemed to flinch at first, before it took a more defensive stance and weathered out the mighty assault. Emerging from the haze left over, the sphere seemed less intense, it's brightness dialed back, yet it still persisted.

Suddenly, it rocketed forth, straight at Batu. Yet the old warrior was not distressed as the electricity cackled nearer and nearer. He knew now exactly who this mysterious being was. As the sphere engulfed him, he was met with a familiar sensation, and more importantly, a familiar sight. Before him was an esteemed brother clad in unmistakable white armor, painted in various glyphs and laden with various purity seals. Yet the time was short, and they could not properly greet, instead exchanging a single nod as the sphere was rocked once more.

Batu looked around, concerned somewhat about his last remaining companion, only to see her there, still unconscious but appearing to be breathing, wreathed in the harmless lightning of their protective supernatural membrane. Batu could not see outside the sphere, but he could only guess that it was not exactly being handled gently by the enraged daemon, which had been striped of it's prey.

Suddenly, he felt a burst of acceleration, as the sphere was presumably carried far away, yet the occasional impact still rocked it. Eventually, the momentum ground to a halt, and the sphere dissipated around them, almost as if it had never existed in the first place. Only then did the helmeted warrior broke his iron concentration to gaze upon his brother. They both bowed to one-another, before removing their helms in a sign of respect.

Few words could accurately describe the look of the Son of Thunder, the prodigious Stormseer Nergui. He truly was the splitting image of their great Primarch, long flowing ebony contained in a ponytail, distinct facial features shaped like a hawk, and eyes black and seemingly sunken yet cackling with power and strength beyond measure. The only significant distinction between them was his far rougher facial hair, while the Khan's had been as clean as it could get, and Nergui's crooked nose, appearing as if the silhouette of an eagle.

"Brother, it is good to see you yet live. Far too many times this day have I discovered a not so fortunate fate for the rest of our detachment here."

Batu's slight smile at the sight of the old master waned. He knew full well by now the heavy toll the world would have wreaked upon the similarly unsuspecting scores of their brothers, just as it had their own.

"How many? How may have you seen die?"

Nergui clearly hesitated at that.

"Too many," he turned his eyes from the sky to him once more. "How many have you?"

"The same," Batu said, his voice laden with grief despite his best efforts. "This world has reaped us of too many souls."

"Are you and this child the only survivors, old friend?" Nergui looked distressed and incredulous despite himself.

"I...do not know. I have not seen Gan since he went to retrieve Altan. They may both still be alive, but at the same time...," he could only sigh, looking up at Nergui, who was a good head taller than his already impressive frame. "Can you track them?"

"Perhaps, but their psychic signature will be muddled, to say the least, from all the...activity happening currently," Nergui had a thoughtful expression upon his features. "Furthermore, it will be difficult to investigate without alerting that creature from earlier, and even now I fear we may be found and slaughtered."

"But, you harmed it. You could keep it at bay."

"Yes, but only for a little while. I am strong, very strong, but these beings, these daemons, they have the power to crush the very planet we stand upon with but a mere flex of their abilities, if they so desired. It would simply be counterproductive for them to do so, as they have come for souls and conquest, not total annihilation. I can barely contend with such a power for longer than minutes at a time, and I do not know if I can be pushed as I was back there and still be of use," Nergui then sat down, throwing a Bolter strapped to his belt at Batu. "I will attempt my best to locate any survivors. I will reawaken as soon as danger might present itself. But I trust you to not allow that to happen either."

"Tchh, you act as if I couldn't do so even without it," Batu bantered, somewhat awkwardly holding the weapon. _Could he not have gotten a Bolt Pistol?_

His brother falling into the all too mysterious death-like slumber of psychic meditation, Batu turned his attention to the sole other living being there.

Mira had not woken up since he had seen her. Undoubtedly seeing and feeling such an overwhelming aura would have affected her to a far greater extent that it did him. However, he also regarded the child with caution. There was no telling what that horrid thing had done to her before he arrived, and she could very well already have been corrupted like regular humans so easily could. As soon as they had the chance, he would have Nergui look her over. He hated the thought of having to purge such a determined soul, but if he felt pity for every heretic he slaughtered he would have gone mad.

Only after resolving that little issue in his mind, did he finally see where they had been taken. The building was spacious, but the collapsed walls and pillars made it seem less so. Glass and open exhibitions littered the grand open hall they found themselves in, ruined beyond any kind of recognizing, but still telling of the original nature of the structure. That this building had served some sort of display purpose, likely a museum, was unquestionable.

The room seemed stuffy, dust and sand most certainly making the environment not pleasant to breathe for an average human. He was reminded once more of their young companion, only to be interrupted again by the cackling of his Vox-caster. Shock at first ran through him, then relief as he realized someone at the very least must have made it out. His excitement was tempered somewhat when only static greeted him on the other end, but soon that static turned into a voice.

"Gan here."

A voice that only served to halt his joy altogether. The man beyond the Vox was indeed Gan, yet at the same time it was not him. It seemed almost as if the effect he had suffered earlier from Ganbaatar's death had only been magnified a thousand fold. His voice was like a frozen dagger, cutting with inhumanly cold precision, and bereft of all feeling save an emotionless contempt.

"Batu speaking. What happened Gan? Where are you? Did you find Altan?"

* * *

Kronos tore apart the last of the Horrors without a shred of mercy or a second thought. To him they were an obstacle to his goal of reuniting with his posse, and nothing more. Composed of Warp dust, creatures of pure malign spirit and nothing more, even more worthless than the dirt underneath his feet. He knew something terrible had to have happened. But to see so many daemons gathered in a single place like this?

Something far darker than even he could've imagined had happened upon this world. And it's effects were only getting worse and worse as he saw the very land around shift and change the textures all being corrupted in their own ways. Spreading and spreading, more and more ground was covered. Streets, buildings, entire city blocks had fallen victim to the crystalline, bizarre architecture of the Changer of Ways alone, not to mention the sizable domains his rivals were gathering at the same time.

The situation only kept escalating further and further. They needed to get off this planet, and soon. He needed to find the others, as quickly as he possible, for another reason aside from merely reuniting.

Along with the corrupting influence he could feel in the very air around him, something else had shined upon this world. A beacon, a point of light amidst a growing and all-encompassing ocean of dark. He knew not what it was, or where it came from, but it seemed to add another, different edge to the atmosphere around him, not exactly one of calm amidst the thundering storm of hellish Warp energy, but yet something oddly supportive, something familiar.

That feeling however was dimmed as he felt an eruption of power behind him, a sinister aura thick like the smog clouds upon a planet-wide Manufactorum. He turned around to find this odd presence, and was greeted with a collapsing building and a feathered silhouette erupting in a blaze of azure fire. A Lord of Change, a Tzeentchian daemon of the highest caliber.

"Oh if it isn't the Fatebreaker, Kronos. We have seen what you have to bring, oh yes we have. Or perhaps, it is not to be at all," the mad cackling voice fit the monstrosity almost perfectly, it's avian head closing and opening in an unnatural manner. "Nonetheless, we cannot allow you to leave here, oh no we can't. You are far, far too great a danger to the great plan. Or perhaps, it's final pawn?"

The creature didn't continue on it's self-contradictory tirade for long however, as it raised it's massive khopesh-style sword and aimed it at Kronos. He knew the limits of his body. The limits of his design. How the Warp empowered it's denizens, especially denizens this influential, with strength he could not hope to match. That said, Kronos was still ready to put up a fight.

A fight which was cut dreadfully short as the abomination moved quicker than what even he could react. Having been launched with the force of a city-shattering impact, Kronos properly came to at the crescendo of his flight, before quickly seeing the ground approaching him. He attempted to get in a position to land on his feet, yet his suit would not obey him.

And thus he crashed into the ground. A minor annoyance all things considered, even though it would have caused most lesser creatures to get reduced to mush. More critically however, he felt his suit a stiff mesh around himself, not the seamless layer of second skin it usually felt that. His helmet had gone dark, and only after forcibly prying it from his head could he see the damage done.

He was lucky to not have been split in twain, the gash across his armor was that great. All the hydraulics, the cabling, nearly everything had been torn, broken and strained in some measure. A work of art, a priceless piece of technology fashioned by mastery hardly repeated in any capacity by all but the most skilled artisans, reduced to worthless scrap.

But that was far from his greatest worry. He had been dispatched this easily from a single blow from a single beast. And for all he knew, and felt, there were more of these Warp beasts, as surely as powerful as that had been, or perhaps even more so.

Yet, there was something else. Only now did he fully notice where exactly he had crashed, and yet again something jogged within his memory. Something ancient was here. Something he knew, yet didn't know. He got to his feet, discarding most of his armor, keeping some of the skin glove, and his spear. He moved through the deep catacomb, unsure whether following a way out or this unknown urge.

* * *

**Author's notes: **Another one gets uploaded. Wew.

Yup, lotsa a things happened this chapter. Still not as many as there should have been. That ending especially is cliffhanger-y as fuck even for me, and I'd like to elaborate further on what exactly it will mean in the future, but eh, just feel like I have to get this one out there first. Cookies to anyone who actually guesses though.

Oh yeah, reviews and favorites are always appreciated and all. I see this story receiving a lot of love on that later department, yet not the former? I definitely enjoy the former more, not gonna lie.

Anyway, that's been it for this time. Thank you guys, and happy December I guess. I probably won't update before that is over, so just getting it out there. Dome of Bones out.


	15. Barriers

Check the bottom of the chapter for notes.

* * *

"Steady...steady...aaaaaand...fire!"

A crack echoed through the air, as the beam of light traveled faster than they could react. In an instant, the target dummy was a sizzling wreck, small embers remaining near the hole the blast had torn through it's fleshy simulation. She took a deep breath, pointing the barrel towards the floor as she turned to her tutor.

"Not a bad shot for a 200 meter target," he huffed a small breath of amusement. "I'd like to see what you could with a Long-Las."

She smiled.

"Try me."

"Heh, not today. Procedures to get access to one of those would be a pain. The cog boys already give me enough headaches over keeping one of these babies post-retirement."

A beat passed, as he motioned for her to follow him, while retrieving the weapon and unloading it.

"Dad, why are they so stupid?"

At that the middle aged man frowned.

"Need to give me a bit more to work on than that sweetie. Who exactly?"

"Well, everyone you used to server with," she said, kicking a pebble away while walking. "Everything you've told about them, about your time with them. They all sound so...well, stupid. How did you put up with them? How does the Holy Emperor put up with them?"

"Mira," he said sternly. "We've talked about this.'

"Right, I know, but there's no one here is there?"

"When you've been through what I've been, the hills and grass have eyes and ears," he whispered, before sighing. Clearing his threat, his face took on a thoughtful look trying to find the proper words for what he was about to say.

"They were people Mira. They were all flawed in some ways. Their job...you need to understand, not everyone gets off as easy as I did. It...changes people. Twists them. Warps them into the worst version of themselves, the one version that can survive what they face each day," he sighed once more. "And they face a lot. Throne knows how I escaped as well off as I did. I thank the Emperor everyday for that."

He patted her head.

"And for you, munchkin."

"Daaaaaaaad," she pouted, embarrassed.

"Sorry," he gave off a gruff laugh. "As for the Emperor...He doesn't tolerate them. Or us. He loves us, all of us. Humanity is His people and He is our Father. He appreciates the work each and every one of us puts into keeping His dream alive, as misguided as they may be. That is why they are allowed to continue doing what they do, for they have not drawn His wrath. And if they did, they would meet a swift end."

Mira cast her eyes down after the speech, clutching the Palatine Aquila hanging from a necklace on her chest.

"Do you really believe that dad?"

"How do you think I made it through all of what I've told you?"

Mira was silent.

"The answer is, I didn't."

That startled her.

"...Dad?"

"I'm already dead sweetie."

Mira did a double take at that line. He didn't make such horrible jokes like this often. She turned around annoyed at him.

...Only to see a corpse staring back.

"Sweetie, if only you could have such an easy fate."

The sun turned to dust. Darkness fell over her, and the corpse's eyes lit up in a horrible purple haze. She screamed, trying to get away, but no matter how much she tried to run, the ground stayed in it's place. More eyes popped up from the darkness, billions of souls gazing upon her with expectant eyes. She yelled and begged and tried with all her might to try and kill the creature in whatever way she could, but her body did not seem to obey her anymore.

But the worst was yet to come. The hands, the stretching hands, burnt, rotten and yet covered in bile, lashed out for her, spreading to every single part of her body, tearing skin, cracking bones, and even her organs were being torn out, yet she was still very much alive.

She pleaded, and begged, and cried, but none of those corpses would listen. They were as silent as the ash spread across the wastes of the land, her wails of agony the only thing breaking the unnerving quiet.

* * *

Batu now possessed four worries within his heart.

The first was a relatively lesser one: Nergui had not stirred from his slumber. His face was calm, his breathing steady, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary, yet the fact that he had remained so for minutes now bewildered him. He had seen his brother scout and properly divulge the contents of entire planetary battlefields within the same time frame, his mighty mind all-seeing and knowing within the Empyrean. Yet, here he was, struggling to find a single individual, amidst an admittedly boiling, insane sea of Chaotic energy.

The second was that of the other compatriot with him at the moment. Mira had still not woken up, yet her movements had become erratic, twisting and turning, while her face had only become more and more agonized. Whatever she was experiencing, it was not pleasant, and Batu could quite frankly not make up his mind whether to mercy kill her or not.

On the one hand, she could simply be experiencing extremely terrible and vivid dreams about her experience with the creature she had been ensnared by, driven to unconsciousness and deep mental distress over it. Mortal minds almost always had trouble comprehending the nature of the Warp.

On the other, she could've very easily been stuck with something truly horrific, whether that be simple corruption slowly eroding her from the inside out, or an entire daemon having been shoved into her. She had certainly been left with the beast long enough for it to have done whatever it wanted to her, and either option seemed plausible. Batu shuddered at that. Even with as much experience as he had with the matters of daemons, cases like this still caused chills to go up his spine.

The third concerned a member yet to arrive. Batu had spoken to and relayed their coordinates to Gan, yet he remained worried for the young warrior. The way he sounded, the manner in which he spoke, told of great grief and wrath, which could leave him all too vulnerable in the face of creatures that fed on and exemplified those emotions. It was doubtful whether he would make it at all.

And the final, greatest one, was that of the impending doom of this world. Whether it would be it's complete conversion into a Daemon World by the foul influences already setting it ablaze, or it's total destruction at the hands of their allies' bombardment, this planet's life was coming to a close, and they could very well all be caught up in it.

And Batu was left only with these thoughts to bear him company in the total silence of their makeshift fortress, attackers possibly ready to break down the walls at any moment, whether they would be surviving Chaos Marines, or daemons. The night outside burned, ash and fire raining down on the world like rain so rarely did.

But he would not be found wanting. He was an Astartes. He would live through it like he had done so many more times. He had to.

They all had to.

And all of a sudden, it clicked. Communications were working again, Kronos' disappearance notwithstanding. The daemons must have rampaged so badly in their insanity that they had destroyed the traitor base, and whatever means were being used to block Vox signals. So, maybe, just maybe...

He immediately clicked several buttons on his helm to start broadcasting.

* * *

Litanies left his mouth ceaselessly, honorings to ancestors past and generations yet to come, instinct taught to him since his "birth" as a man.

Gan had his coordinates. He had his mission. He had his fury, and the fury of the Emperor behind him. As daemon after daemon fell, he cared not even that his weapons had gone dead long ago. The Lascannon hanging uselessly on his back, it's ammo spent on the dispatching of a massive horde. His Bolter thrown away, it's useless shells littering the battlefield, scattered across the blasted landscape.

Now just his fists remained. The two instruments of wrath none could take from him. And he had used them much that day. He had used them so much that the armor itself had become creased and cracked, and he could feel the bones in his very knuckles buckling after so many strikes.

He did not care. Any semblance of higher strategy had been foregone. His situation simply did not allow it. Kill, kill, and kill more was the only thing he could do. His survival, and his meeting with the remainder of his group, were just a far off goal at this point. In a way, it was almost as if his brain had gone in a type of autopilot, turned into a living breathing Automata, sheer catharsis and hatred his fuel.

* * *

This place echoed something of the familiar. It's pathways serpentine, stretching for far longer than such a seemingly inconsequential entrance had any right to. The construction shifted, changed, the architecture practically reflecting the sheer age that radiated inside the place. Different epochs of different peoples, adding and layering on the labyrinthine construction.

But why here? Why now? And why was he compelled to follow it?

He had answers for none of these questions. He only had the will to keep going.

Eventually, the tunnel shifted from horizontal to vertical, into a steep drop that seemed bottomless. The darkness was so great even his enhanced eyes couldn't see past a certain point. It may very well have led into the core of the planet itself. Yet, that feeling did not go away. It only seemed to get stronger the further he went into this strange place. And height of all things was not about to dissuade him.

He jumped down the abyss, darkness swallowing him whole. He looked upwards to where he had come from, the light shrinking as he descended deeper and deeper. He marveled at the sheer depth of the burrowing, a good minute passing before he finally collided with solid ground. The impact would've instantly broken every bone in a normal human's body, yet Kronos shook it off and got to his feet. Padding from his armor would've been appreciated, yet seeing as that was practically useless metal hanging off of him now, he endured.

The price of a whole world worth of exotic materials gone to waste not lost on him, the Custodes looked around the cavern he had descended upon. Or, at the very least, he thought it was a cavern. The darkness still stretched around, absolute and all-encompassing even now. He took a look at his drained auspex, hoping in vain that it would somehow flare back to life, yet predictably it did not.

...Why was he down here?

Only now did the trance-like haze that had been hung over his mind was lifted. What was he doing? How had he followed this road, so instinctually, with so little input from his own mind? Snapping to full alertness, he took on a battle stance as the very darkness around him seemed like a vast predator, waiting to bite into him at the slightest dent in his concentration. His mind went through thousands of reasonings a second, anything from the influence of the Warp to him somehow being led astray from his enhanced senses developed due to his long exposure.

He sat there for mere minutes, yet for his slowed down perception, it was as if hours passed, with nothing happening. He was too paranoid from having been so easily manipulated in a way he couldn't even guess to move, simply waiting for the abyss to make it's next attempt at whatever it's game was. It seemed insane, yet Kronos was feeling his senses going haywire in those very moments.

Something was amiss, and he was none too eager to be spending anymore time here. With his conscious psyche restored properly, he remembered all that had led up to this. And in the process, recalled what would happen to this planet in what he could only presume was a short time. He didn't know how he would scale the walls, if he could even find as such, to return to the surface. But he would find a way.

He slowly began moving back towards where he thought the tunnel began at the very least. Direction was difficult to determine in such pitch black conditions, even for him. Yet, he took a leap of faith, and thankfully, reached what he needed. A solid wall of stone, consistent in texture with what he had seen the tunnel made out of, greeted his vice grip, which easily penetrated it. He began climbing upwards, taking chunk after chunk off the rock, before only the latest freak occurrence in a very long day stopped him.

**++MY SON++**

The voice he heard caused him to lose his grip and plummet down once more. It was less like sound and more like thunder given meaning in his head. He caught himself on his feet once more, superior reflexes kicking in as he gripped his ruined Guardian Spear, tensed and coiled like a viper ready to strike without prejudice. Yet, nothing came from the darkness.

This latest occurrence, along with what had brought him here...was he going mad? Had exposure to the energies of the Empyrean driven him off the deep end like so many torturous years had failed to? He found his doubt increasingly prevalent, until he heard it again.

**++COME++**

One word. Two syllables, with so much power and authority behind them. They were overwhelming. They reverberated across his entire body, igniting his blood as if it were boiling lava. Kronos would be a fool not to oblige such a presence, yet, come where? There was nowhere to go but up.

And as if a queue, the cave shifted. He could hear clear metallic rumbling in the darkness, great masses of artificial materials clanging and banging against each-other, as they reformed, reshaped and unfolded. He would have been more unnerved, but a light soon shined through the darkness, the first he had seen in what felt like an eternity.

It was dim, the light of ancient machinery just barely clinging to life, it's vigor long eroded by the passage of time, yet it still took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust after total deprivation. He looked upon a confusing monument of pipes, gears and much, much more. The goliath machines stretched across the entire room, the only place untouched by them being the entrance he had fallen in from. The room itself was far more spacious than he had originally imagined, stretching out for hundreds of meters.

Various strange objects were littered across the space, their order following some strange kind of symmetry Kronos could just barely make out. They were all mechanical in nature it seemed, yet none were recognized by him. That is, with the exception of one. The very centerpiece of the strange collection.

There, sat upon a throne worthy of the greatest king, stood a golden behemoth. Massive in size, yet oddly slender and graceful at the same time, it was an ornate suit of armor that put even the most well-crafted battle plates of the most esteemed Legio Custodes veterans to shame. Kronos had never prided himself as the most skilled artisan, yet even from afar he could see the countless hours of work, carved with superhuman accuracy and a genius' intuition onto the ancient armor.

It's helm bore the greatest striking resemblance to the armor of the Custodes, being a near complete replica, yet a good portion of it's lower half was painted white instead of gold. On it's chest, a symbol more ancient than even the Raptor Imperialis was carved, a great golden eagle with a single head, glaring daggers through it's ruby eyes at him.

The armor was marked with the dust of time all over, yet it's features seemed untouched outside of the superficial. Dirt, grime, and more had coalesced around the armor and the it was wrapped with, yet none seemed to have affected it's structural integrity in any way. Yet, one more thing drew him to this strange relic. That very same beckoning presence, was now felt more strongly than ever.

As if possessed, he followed the path to it, ignoring all the various other pieces of technology littered around the cave-like chamber. He had to know the source of that thunderous voice. He had to satisfy this strange. He had to simply check if this wasn't all some insane episode that his tired, corrupted mind had come up with.

At last, he was but a few steps away from the armor's resting place. It could've simply been his imagination, or paranoia, but he could swear it's dead, lifeless crimson optics were staring at him intently, examining his every breath, his every twitch. With nothing else to do, Kronos closed the remainder of the distance, and touched the armor.

And...nothing happened. Kronos stood there, before retreating several steps back. Then he let out a hoarse laugh, the first such display of emotion he'd allowed himself in a long time. But there was no humor in that sound, only cold hatred and contempt.

He really was just crazy. A man driven insane by the torturous experiences he had endured, now reduced to a sad, pathetic mess that was wasting valuable time chasing a vague feeling like a Nurglite zombie, hearing voices in his head that commanded him. By the Throne, could he even say for certain this wasn't all just another device of carnage unleashed upon his mind? His expulsion from the Warp nothing but another illusion that the daemonic scum which partook so readily in his suffering had conjured up?

It was certainly complex, dragging him through all of this, yet the constant giving and taking of hope? The carrot dangling on a stick just outside of his grasp? That he could certainly see the foul Neverborn doing, he thought as he collapsed to his knees.

_My death is assured, one way or the other. If this forsaken hellhole is indeed reality, my own corrupted mind has cost me the time to escape it's fiery death. If it is not, I will simply be returned to my regular incorporeal prison, forced to endure torture for the rest of eternity, until my mind and soul snap entirely. Once, I thought death would grant me peace, but even that I do not know now._

_I know only that I have failed. I failed Damocles by undertaking the reckless charge I did. I failed Constantin Valdor, the greatest of us, by ignoring all of his teachings. And I have now failed the Emperor as well, my will to do what he intends, depleted and broken._

He sat there in total silence, the weight of his own sins crushing him worse than a mountain.

And that damned armor kept staring at him.

It's ruby eyes were like a hot knife cutting through his flesh, unrelenting and filled with wrathful vigor despite their dead opaqueness. Part of him thought it was merely his mind playing tricks on him, another thought this was simply a sign of his completely slipping mind, and the rest didn't care. It just wanted that inquisitive stare to _stop_.

He raised himself, feeling more drained and tired than he had ever before, wounds that should have meant nothing to him magnified by his own grief, and walked towards the golden statue once more. Even as he approached, it's seething glare did not give. In fact, it only seemed to grow in intensity, it's eyes taking on a new fire. Again he asked himself if he was merely suffering the last degeneration of his unwell mental state.

He came within arm's reach of the armor again, only now truly appreciating the sheer size of it. Kronos was no giant among his kin, but to any ordinary man he would've seemed enormous, making even reasonably tall men look like toddlers by comparison. And yet this armor was larger still, dwarfing even bulky Terminator plate. It almost seemed like a Dreadnought chassis, yet far sleeker and more compact.

His eyes at last shifted from the blood red artificial eyes staring at him, to another set of such ocular simulations, ingrained into the chestplate. The eagle symbol glared into his soul with just as much intensity. Curious, he inspected the head of the ornament, and found suspicious markings on it. He grasped the head, founding it surprisingly swayed under his touch easily.

Yet even more surprising was how it snapped open afterwards, and almost made him jump back. The source of the eye's splendor was revealed, a sizable ruby burning with a strange ethereal energy, encased deep beneath it's surface. Kronos was surprised at it's sheer size. Surely such a massive piece of decor would inhibit numerous vital functions, would it not?

Perhaps the armor was merely decorative? It certainly seemed like a tall order for anyone to fit within it in the first place. He had seen some truly impressive warriors in his time, first among them the Primarchs. But as it stood, this armor looked to either be far younger, or far older than them.

He reached out with his hand again, resting it upon the gemstone. A strange sensation flowed through him, and he was compelled to do something. What it was, he knew not for certain, but he felt his body moving as of it's own accord. He removed a ruined chunk of his gauntlet, casting it aside. With a bit of hesitation, he reached out his bare hand, and touched the precious red heart of the dead giant before him.

At first, nothing happened. Yet, as if a chain of cluster bombs being detonated in succession, he slowly felt the sensation from the gemstone increase in potency, rising and rising until it practically burned. At that, he attempted to yank his hand off, yet he found himself paralyzed, his muscles frozen. The burning now spread and increased in intensity, traveling up his arm, onto his chest, before moving to his neck.

Kronos let out a deafening scream as it finally consumed his head, and all went white.

* * *

"...This is...blast it all to the pit..." Batu spat several more curses in native Chogorian. He'd been trying to get a signal directly to the ships in orbit for half an hour now, yet it wasn't working. All he could hear was the damned static.

Both of his companions were still silent, one knocked out and the other engaged in business he dared not even think about. The sounds of the warzone around him had gone silent as well, yet if anything that only put him more on edge. He was practically all alone now, and while he harbored no fear he needed no psychic abilities to sense the foreboding almost choking the atmosphere around him.

And just then, as he was preparing another transmission, the static flared to life:

"...thi...stat...ide...diat..."

Batu returned his helmet's Vox-comm, hoping to reach the frequency better. In another stroke of good luck, he managed just that.

"I repeat, you are broadcasting in a restricted frequency. Identify yourself or face immediate termination."

"This is Battle-Brother Batu, 6th Squad, 4th Brotherhood of the White Scars and..." Batu hesitated in saying the next words, protest almost raising from his throat. "Acting squad leader in light of our Sergeant's death."

"White Scars, by the Throne, we thought you all but lost down there," the speaker adjusted his tone to a careful one now. "This is Gladius, Inquisitorial Throne Agent aboard the _Purity of Absolution_."

"It is good to hear from you again, Throne Agent."

Batu knew Gladius. They were not friends by any means, but as the unofficial Inquisitorial representative, Batu had become accustomed to him and his crew during the coordination of the mission.

"Likewise, White Scar. I must admit, I had my doubts when your Stormseer personally descended to the planet. We all thought you killed. What is happening down there?"

Batu sucked in a deep breath as he explained as conclusively as he could what had happened in the last several hours. With each shocking revelation, the man on the other side became more and more outraged and bewildered. At last, he finished his sad tale, and awaited a response from the other side.

Chatter seemed to pass over the channel, as Gladius was clearly discussing with someone else on these new revelations, before returning to talk with the Space Marine once more.

"Your plight is acknowledged Marine. Reinforcements are coming. We will have troops and evacuation vehicles launched as soon as possible for you, and all the Sorsan regiments will be apprehended immediately. But right after that, if your reports are to be believed, we must commit Exterminatus immediately. The daemonic plague you speak of could be a threat to this entire sector if left unchecked. Gather what you must, and bolt to the coordinates I will transmit over. Time is of the essence. Ave Imperator."

The comm devolved to static once more. Well, that was one issue taken care of. He glanced once more at his companions, and noticed the Librarian was beginning to twitch within his sleepless slumber. Good. He would have to awaken soon anyway.

And just as a wave of relaxation had somewhat washed over him, Batu heard the dim roar of battle in the distance. It was like screaming, but not any human screaming. This was something beyond that, something far more terrible. Yet, it wasn't just screams if aggression. There were those of pain as well, and the sound was getting closer.

Batu pointed his Bolt Pistol in the direction of the sounds, ready for the enemy to burst into the ruined place at any moment. Nergui himself seemed to be tensing more and more, approaching consciousness again. What happened next neither would be prepared for however.

Out of one of the rockcrete walls, burst forth something that Batu nearly confused for a daemon. Yet on second glance, he just barely managed to halt the stream of Bolt shells he was about to send it's way.

It was Gan. And yet, not him.

The warrior was as far removed from what he had looked mere hours ago as could be. His battle plate was scorched nearly all over, as if the flames of Hell itself had licked off the shimmering white paint it was once adorned with. His tribal livery, Chapter symbol and most any recognizable feature upon his frame had been defiled and erased. He was covered in a rapidly evaporating layer of blood and in the clotted remains of vital fluids having coming from numerous gashes across his body.

His left arm was entirely gone below the elbow, and one of his eye lenses was cracked badly, leaving only a single red orb staring back at him. Yet that single red orb was all that was needed. Gan looked back once, before scanning the room with Batu, Nergui and Mira in it.

"**RUN**"

* * *

**Author's notes: **Not dead. Not quite living either. But am still here. And here's another chapter. Hopefully you're not getting too bored of me dragging things out, but I sort of have to condense these things, otherwise they'd all be 10k+ words long and take even longer to write.

Anyway, hope the wait was worth it for most of you, and I'm just gonna go to sleep now. As always, favs and especially reviews are always appreciated and wanted, and if you're nice enough I might even finish this before WWIII (hilarious meme that is not outdated haha).

This is Dome of Bones signing off.


	16. Revelation

Check the bottom of the chapter for notes.

* * *

He awoke slowly. Pain wracked every portion of his body, a paralyzing sensation that dulled even his enhanced biology. Yet, while his body ached, his head was an entirely different beast. He was struggling to merely organize his thoughts as he measly attempted to get up.

Yet the pain was not long lasting, and only a few moments had passed before he managed to get to his feet. The sight that greeted his eyes was not one he was expecting in any capacity.

Instead of a cavernous opening absolutely crawling with ancient technology and barely illuminated by the dimming light of senile and dying generators, before him spread a white sea of nothingness. An empty, milky expanse seemingly stretching infinitely in every direction. The whiteness was bright, yet not hurtful to the eyes at all. He questioned where in the blasted Warp he even was, before that thought immediately reminded him.

The gemstone. It had done something. What it was, he knew not for certain, yet he was almost certainly connected to the hellish realm now. This drastic shift of environment, the strange and downright impossible place he found himself in, they were all telltale signs. He stood on guard, expecting something to shift the terrain into an incomprehensible nightmare-scape very soon, yet nothing came.

It was only then that he realized he had no clothes on. Not one bit of his armor remained strapped to his body, nor the broken pieces of his spear, nor even a simple cloth to preserve his modesty. He had no use for such poultry concepts of course, but it still distressed him that whatever could happen in this place would all go down by way of pure physical brawl. Yet, after some time observing the surrounding area more, it seemed that would not be necessary.

A figure seemed to be approaching from the light. Yet, it's presence did not invite hostility. It should, for all intents and purposes, have flared his martial instincts, yet for whatever reason he found himself calmed rather than alarmed. The figure made it's way through the vast expanse quickly, reaching him with an ethereal, yet graceful speed. Only when it was close could he tell any distinguishing features apart from the white background it merged so well with.

The being's features were fuzzy, shifting, as if being viewed from a corrupted pict-capture. Yet, he could tell a distinct female form was before him. The being seemed like not much more than merely a silhouette, except for the eyes, which glowed ever so slightly more than the rest of the body. Yet, those were not the most peculiar feature.

Two wings emerged from it's back, slightly possessing of a different light, one in the hues of gold rather than pure supernova white. He attempted to reach out to the figure, yet he never got the chance to.

"It is not time yet."

The voice had been the first thing in a long time to startle him, and he suddenly found himself looking all around for it's source. He found nothing at first. The titanic void was as empty as it had been, save for the strange apparition who was even now sinking back into the light it had emerged from. He ran after it, intent on not losing the only thing analogous to a real creature inside of this strange place, but no matter how fast he sprinted he could not catch up to the angelic being, that seemed to simply sink back into the horizon.

He stood, motionless, despair gripping his spirit, only now realizing the full extent of the sublime effect the presence had been granting him. Yet, before the loss could fully set in, yet another unexpected development took him out of it.

"You will meet her, soon enough."

A firm hand gripped his shoulder, and he instinctively turned his body and threw a mighty punch. His fist was like lightning, yet whatever had touched him was faster still. He found himself trapped, his hand held firmly in place. Yet, as he snapped out of pre-programmed combat maneuvers, he finally laid eyes on the presence he had felt.

Another surreal experience to add to the list of this day, before him stood the very same armor that he had been interacting with mere moments before. Or was it hours? He really could not tell in this place.

Yet, it was also different. The wears and tears of age had all but been eroded from it's frame, it's plating glistening as if having come out of a manufactorum mere hours ago. And while it's eyes were normally crimson gemstones, now a golden light shone through them, far more brilliant than the rest of the armor, or indeed, any of the surrounding white background. And within those blazing orbs of power, he felt something he had not felt in a long time. Something familiar and comforting beyond measure.

"Kronos. My son. You have done well to make it this far," it said in a comforting voice.

The figure let go of his hand, and Kronos could only take a step back in disbelief. At any other time, any other circumstances, he would've most certainly been suspicious, downright hostile to such a presence. But those glistening orbs...

They filled him with safety and trust he knew only one being truly could. There was no mistaking that vision. No simulating it's glory, it's weight, it's sheer dominating aura and charisma. And while it wasn't felt as strongly as in the flesh, Kronos knew exactly what he was looking at, even if his tired and battered mind was still struggling to grasp such a reality.

"M-my...my Emperor?"

The armor seemed to think, somehow emoting the idea even through it's cold visage, before answering warily.

"In a matter of speaking, yes."

Kronos frowned at that, his excitement tempered. What exactly did he mean by that?

The armor...Emperor...the being before him seemed to notice this discomfort.

"Come, let us walk for some time," he gestured for the Custodian to follow him. "I have much to explain."

Kronos joined him, still unsure. They began walking towards an unspecified point, seemingly careless of direction. A small, pregnant silence hung before the armor once more spoke.

"You have many concerns I can tell, least of all what we're doing here," it was hard to describe the tone. It sounded like the voice of a man, but not much beyond that could be discerned by him. It was a rather generic voice, with almost nothing to make it stand out, aside from an echo seemingly produced by the suit.

"You have the observational skills of my Emperor. Yet...your cryptic answer does not help matters."

"It is not cryptic. It is merely the truth my son. I both am and am not the Emperor you know."

"How?"

"You noted the advanced age of the containment chamber you found this armor in, did you not?" it said, while pointing towards itself.

Kronos merely nodded.

"I am a relic. A past fragment left there from a bygone era," the armor now looked upward, as if it could see in intricate detail something Kronos could not even grasp. "Many millennia ago, when mankind were masters of the stars, unrivaled in their dominance, I was their shepherd and protector from the shadows. I traveled to many worlds. Left some things, gathered some others. And through it all, I grew both my pool of knowledge and power."

And even as he said that, the very terrain seemed to shift around. At first it was a harrowing experience, yet Kronos calmed down soon upon seeing how composed his guide was, and that the changing void had no impact on him whatsoever. Before him, the whiteness gave way to pure black, eventually being illuminated by the light of stars, and at least earth sprung up around him, massive metropoles stretching out in front of him.

Then he realized where they were. The dunes were still distinctive even among all the advancement. Sors seemed to have once been a truly prosperous world, eclipsing even the beauty of Old Terra he had come to see under the benevolent guidance of the Emperor in some aspects. But when exactly was this? What time was he being shown?

"The Dark Age of Technology," the armor replied without needing a prompt. "Humanity's peak. One I was sadly never able to reach with my limited time as sole ruler, far too bogged down from reversing the effects of Old Night, and then keeping my nascent Imperium together. Yet, in those times, I was not yet so concerned. We were one of the dominant species in the galaxy, our will unmatched by any save one. My guidance needed not be anything more than a gentle, tugging hand."

The armor shook it's head.

"But that is not a tale to tell now," it looked once more over the expansive cityscape. "I had a small private lab here. Back then, this world was known as Maxima, the jewel of human colonies within 500 parsecs. It was here, that in no great grandeur, nor any ceremony, that the prototype for all my forces would be forged. My own personal battle plate for some time, left as a back up after my return to Terra."

At that, Kronos finally reacted.

"What?"

The armor seemed almost amused.

"It is true," it said, facing the Custodian. "The armor you see before you is where every other suit of Custodes power armor has come from. It is called the _Armaturam Progressus_, and from it every piece of equipment you, my golden guardians, now wield was born."

The revelation that he had so carelessly handled such a precious relic made Kronos silent despite himself. Even beyond his dislike for sentimentality, such disregard stabbed into his consciousness. He had been inconsiderate almost to the point of crime.

"Do not fret, my son," the armor spoke once more, it's ability to simply read Kronos like an open book now made readily apparent. "You had no way of knowing. And such things must be behind you now. It is merely a tool to be used, nothing more, nothing less."

Kronos finally looked up once more to meet those burning golden embers, and dropped to one knee.

"My lord...father...forgive me for ever doubting you. I should have known...I should have known when I felt your presence..." he said, as he lowered his head in shame and obedience both.

A firm grip once more was placed on his shoulder.

"Rise, Kronos, for as I said, you have done well to make it this far."

He did as asked, yet his mind was once more conflicted, and he now knew the armor could tell such a thing easily. So he instead simply decided to speak his mind.

"My lord, if I may ask, how can you talk to me through this armor?And..." it was only then that he remembered how he was transported in this strange mental plane in the first place. "What was that gemstone? How did it do this?"

"I was just about to elaborate on that," the armor seemed to take a deep breath, even if for all intents and purposes it should've been impossible for it to do so. "You see, my son, this is why I said I am both the Emperor you know, and yet not. I am a fragment of his soul split off many millennia ago, bound to a special gemstone enchanted with arcane properties by mine own hand."

The terrain dissolved away, until only the stars remained, with both of them standing floating in the void of space.

"I had no concerns during these days, not in the conventional sense. But my senses still blared. Alas, I foretold this state would not last forever. I knew of the terrors awaiting mankind at the gaping maw of oblivion it was about to stumble upon. But I had not tested them yet. I knew not to what exact extent their powers stretched. And when I finally received premonitions about the birth of the Eye of Terror, I realized I would need contingencies for the coming storm."

"Using the arcane knowledge I had accumulated over the millennia, I split my soul into many different pieces, each one inferior to the one remaining in my body, yet each one capable of aiding me should the time ever arise. That time came once, when at the end of Old Night, I pulled together as many fragments of myself as I could to aid me in my Primarch Project."

The armor shifted it's blazing eyes from the heavens to Kronos now.

"That time has now come once more. You will don this armor, and merge with it's fragment. _My _fragment."

Kronos dropped to his knees immediately, overwhelmed.

"My lord, I would be honored beyond comparison. But, why? Why not use such precious power to further aid yourself, in your maintaining of the Golden Throne?" it was then that a cord of maddening panic struck him. "The Throne...the Throne still s-stands, correct? Terra still stands, correct?!"

The armor nodded once, keeping a steady gaze on him, and Kronos immediately felt a sense of calm overtake him.

"Worry not, my son. The Throneworld still endures. I can feel my gestalt wholeness upon it, shining brighter than ever before. Though beyond that I can give you no more assurance. In truth mine own cognition of my true self is immensely limited. I only received a flash, a brief glimmer from it a day ago, when you arrived."

Realization swiftly dawned on the Custodian.

"Then y-you..."

"Yes, my intervention anchored you to the physical plane once more, yet I was only able to do it because of the great tear between real space and the Empyrean created upon this world. I had no knowledge of you before then, and only the flash from my greater whole informed me. Truly, the most perfect yet most disadvantageous of circumstances."

"I s-see," Kronos choked on his words, and almost began crying despite himself. _So, he has been...he has been watching me all this time..._

The armor nodded, as it pulled Kronos to his feet.

"Rise, Custodian. The time runs out," the armor looked around as if perceiving something Kronos could not, before slowly speaking once more. "You are strong, mighty indeed to have made it this far. Yet the path ahead is far too treacherous for you to navigate alone. Through my power, you will become the sickle with which I shall reap the weeds of corruption, discord and destruction from my empire. From henceforth, you are no mere member of the Legio Custodes."

The armor's voice rose higher and higher, until a practical chorus was exploding from it, as the starry backdrop of space shifted to that of the golden throne room of Old Terra.

"From henceforth, you are the spear of unity. The bane of Chaos. You are the Emperor's Fist. And you act as one with his will."

The armor pointed towards a spot right in front of the exquisite throne, and Kronos obeyed. The armor itself moved, shifted into motion as if a ghost, taking a seat atop the throne, and right in that moment Kronos could swear he saw the firm but warm visage of his liege and father. A great spear, carved to such intricate and minute detail that Kronos could not make out all of it even with his enhanced vision, materialized in it's hands, with the massive gemstone that had started all this as it's tip.

The armor looked downward, and Kronos instinctively knew to bow.

"Let this be the last time you ever show deference to another individual not of your destiny," the armor said, as it positioned the spear near his neck. "Until we meet again, on Old Terra. I sacrifice now my will, to give you the power to reforge the galaxy in my name."

The armor shifted the spear once more, now aiming for Kronos' heart.

"Only in death does duty end."

Kronos knew not why he said those words. They merely came as if a second breath. They had seemed appropriate.

The armor merely nodded. It pulled back, before thrusting the spear forwards directly into him. There was no pain, only the world around him going white.

* * *

A lightning whip the length of a Warhound Titan flared forth, deliberately missing them entirely and smiting some unfortunate and now very deceased threat beyond the walls. Batu looked back to see Nergui awakened and alert, if looking a little worse for wear, his eyes sunken like a sleepless mortal. None needed to be told what would follow.

Gan was the first to act after that, barreling forwards at blinding speeds and crashing straight through several walls, a makeshift opening being left behind. Almost forgetting, Batu grabbed the unconscious child with as much care as he could in the circumstances presented, and bolted towards his brother as Nergui was left past to do something.

Batu was not worried, and sure enough, seconds later he joined them on the outside, with the building collapsing behind as he fled. _That will not keep them for long, _Batu thought.

But it would keep them for long enough. He glanced at Gan, as the later glanced toward him as well. His posture was unreadable, but his physical state spoke volumes. If Batu had to guess, he'd say Bloodletters. No other daemon possessed a burning effect such as that. Only now did he noticed that his Lascannon had been ripped to shreds, despite still hanging on his back. His Combat Knife and Bolter were nowhere to be found either.

But they had not the time to dwell. As expected, daemons once more converged upon them, yet it was not from behind, but in front. And it was certainly not what Batu was expecting.

Soon, like locusts swarming, a great horde of Nurglings and Plaguebearers surged forth from every building, every corner, nook and cranny, as if in hiding. The bloated, rotting pests made even Batu's hardened stomach lurch. Merely looking at them was as close as possible as one could get to objective disgust, and Batu was glad for his helmet's air filter.

Underneath their feet, the very earth seemed to revolt on itself, regular land becoming sick and corrupted. Grotesque patterns formed wherever the putrid beings stepped, as if the very planet was being sickened, bloated and corrupted to the core by the mere presence of the immaterial threats.

Nergui moved to the front of their formation, his eyes cackling with energy, but otherwise doing nothing. He stood perfectly calm and still against the opposing horde, his features hardened and thoughtful, yet unmoving.

"Brother Nergui?"

"They are not the true threat," he muttered in a hushed voice, yet did not turn nor do anything else.

The group grew ever closer, their advance slow and methodical, much like the Plague Father himself. Despite himself, Batu found worry beginning to grow inside of his heart. He trusted the Stormseer with all of his hear, yet he had said nothing. Done nothing. What could he possibly been waiting for?

He noted Gan seemed extremely on edge as well, practically twitching in place as he stared dead into the center of the advancing daemon army. He was jittery, and his one good arm clenched and unclenched disturbingly.

"Don't even think about engaging them at close range," Nergui muttered, having stopped Gan before his muscles could twitch and his mind could fire off the necessary neurons. He looked at the Stormseer, his expression unreadable through his helm.

"You know full well the dangers of facing the spawns of Nurgle, and both of you have your armors compromised," Nergui continued staring at some point beyond the horde. "More importantly, as I said, they are not the true threat."

Only then, as if one queue, did the subject of Nergui's concerns became apparent. Some distance behind the encroaching mass of filth and diseases given life, an entire apartment complex was smashed apart, and a towering figure emerged from the rubble.

Even in comparison to the vile monstrosities moving towards them, the giant creature was truly a wretched thing, pus and bile spewing out of every orifice in it's bloated, carcass-like body. Batu could almost _see _the smell emanating from the seething mass of rotten and diseased flesh that made up it's entirety. It was as tall as two Land Raiders turned upwards and stacked on each-other, and nearly as wide along the waist. It's face harbored a disgusting grin, with sharpened yellow teeth not so much falling off as sagging away.

It's three glowing emerald eyes formed a pattern that all but confirmed the already known. It was a herald of the Plague Father, a disgusting fetid Neverborn with power far beyond the ordinary. It was a Great Unclean One, and it rumbled towards them along with it's small army.

At the sight of what he had been anticipating revealed at last, Nergui tensed, before putting on his stylized helm. Moments after, it's optics came to life, though not by any means powered by the armor's generator, as the normally crimson orbs cackled with golden lightning. Nergui spared a glance to his Battle-Brothers, before the Bolter strapped to his hip flew straight towards Gan, who caught it with his remaining arm.

Immediately afterwards, both he and Batu felt an odd energy within them, exploding throughout their bodies as their vision became blurry for but a moment, before returning more vibrant and detailed than before. Their muscles, despite having gone through severe stress that day, felt better than optimum condition, swelling with untold energy. Their very perception seemed to have slowed, as everything that moved did so almost at a snail's pace.

Only a few seconds later did they realize the source of this sudden boost. They both looked towards the Stormseer, whose frame was already being enveloped by tendrils of electricity.

"_I hope the power I graft onto you will be enough to brace against the horde, brothers_," he spoke in their native tongue. "_But I cannot help you beyond that. I will have to keep **that **at bay_."

He turned toward the Great Unclean One lumbering toward them, crushing buildings underneath it's massive, pillar-like legs.

"_Extraction will be delivered to us. Hopefully. If it is not, take solace in all of us dying a worthy death_."

The Stormseer locked eyes with the great beast of filth, and it seemed to noticed him too. The psychic behemoths sized each-other up, before a burst of lightning levitated Nergui off the ground.

"For the Emperor, and Jaghatai Khan!"

He blasted away towards his foe, towards his death most likely, and when the dust settled, his brothers responded with a shout that could split the skies, as they themselves engaged in a battle for their lives.

"**Honored be his name!**"

* * *

Zeno fled. He could do nothing but flee. But, in a more calm mood, he may have asked himself what the purpose of fleeing from the very thing he created was.

He had brought this upon his world. He was fully aware of the potential consequences. But that bastard Xephos...

He never could have anticipated destruction of this magnitude. But then again, he had been a fool to believe a dog of Chaos without any backup plans. Now, all he had worked for was ruined, his hopeful ambitions destroyed.

He thought back to all the lives he had destroyed, all the people killed in this endeavor, all for a plan that was truly reaching even in the best case scenario, and now lay in ruins much like the planet he had sought to save. As he kept moving, thinking of all his sins, he frequently questioned why he even had the gall to keep going.

But he knew why. There was one last place on this doomed world, one ancient and washed in the sands of time, yet radiating with untold energies and purifying aura. He saw that as the last place to ask for forgiveness before he was erased along with the earth he trod upon.

The daemons knew who he was at the very least, and so long as he didn't get close they ignored him. It was advantageous, for he would have died several times already. But he knew that would not last long. Without any humans in sight, and before the world was properly turned into one belonging to the Empyrean, they would become more and more ravenous, as the lease they had on this reality slipped. But he would be done by then anyway.

He at last reached the building he was looking for, a rather mundane construction that concealed a secret he could only fathom about. Stretched miles underneath it were labyrinthine tunnels he had not yet discovered the purpose of, but they always brought him peace, as if a psychic aura of calm resonated throughout it. He knew that it was a special place, for reasons he could not discern.

He had used it frequently to meditate on his plans. Now, he would do the same with his own death. He entered it, seeing it's immense damage, as if something huge had crashed through it. A mere destructive act from the horrid immaterial beasts now stalking the land, probably.

He entered where he knew the catacombs began, and started his long descent into the serpentine pathways. Who knew, perhaps this would be his chance to discover at last what they were truly about?

Yet as he turned a corner, his vision aided only by experience and repetition, he saw something which sparked primal terror within him the likes of which he'd never felt before: four glowing red orbs stared at him from the darkness.

The lower pair were not as bright, and seemingly had no soul to them beyond a gemstone-like reflection of light, if there had been any light to reflect. The upper pair however were very much alive, and burning with what seemed like hateful fury. They looked artificial, like optic lenses, yet there was soul behind them. And fueling that soul was sheer hatred.

Then, without warning, the lights. Only now did he hear the heavy _thuds_ of mighty footsteps. He stumbled back, in his panic attempting to flee, yet the _thing _caught up to him without so much as a light stroll. He felt graspser the size of his head lift him effortlessly by his robes, and suddenly he was staring right into the crimson orbs of death, pure horror looking straight through.

And then, something shocked him out of his maddened, flailing panic.

"**Why?**"

* * *

**Author's notes: **Betcha ya didn't expect a chapter so soon eh? What spurred this sudden increase in activity you ask?

Well simple really: I've been reading Warhammer books and my passion has been reignited somewhat, enough to feel like I can write pretty confidently a lot more. Does this mean new chapters will come much sooner? I dunno, prolly not cause I am a lazy fuck.

Anyway, once more, not much to say about this one. As you might've guessed by now, either the next chapter or the one after that will finally be the conclusion to the Sors arc, if you want to call it that, and personally I couldn't be more happy about it, because I really want to move on to bigger and better things. This shit's already the length of a novel and I'm barely done.

As always, faves, follows and especially reviews are appreciated and very much encouraged. I hope you had fun with this chapter. This is Dome of Bones signing out.


	17. The Golden Pillar

Check the bottom of the chapter for notes.

* * *

Walking around felt...strange. There was an untold new weight to his movements, but it did not seem to impair him at all. In fact he felt his senses and reflexes all sharpened to a razor edge. He could hear everything, the pitch blackness barely affected him even without his suit, he could taste the component chemicals in the air, tell where each smell lead to precisely.

And then there were the other senses as well, ones not of this world. He had awoken with a start, in a strange, unfamiliar body and frame. But beyond that, he had awakened to a strange awareness. One he did not have before. Whereas his unfortunate journey into the Immaterium had granted him access to a Warp sense that could pick out the touch of Chaos wherever it may be in his vicinity, now it was like he had a veritable map of anything that left a mark on the Empyrean.

Like an ancient bat of Old Terra using echolocation, it was as if his mind sent out waves of thought outward into the void, and they rebounded somewhere, bringing with them the knowledge of all the presences there. And there were many presences. Mostly the daemonic.

But among them shined one pure one. A distinctly human one. Kronos knew he had to follow it specifically. But first...

He felt another presence close, in the veritable labyrinth above. Weak, frail, and terrified, it too was nonetheless human. And while the touch of Chaos was not on it, something was definitely wrong about it. He would investigate before leaving. It was the way out anyway.

Slowly, Kronos approached the massive chasm he had descended to get here. Quietly, he wondered if there were any other, swifter methods rather than climbing. As if listening to his thoughts, the armor responded by engaging a set of wing-like thrusters, folding outward from it's power pack.

Well, that was certainly useful. But he had no idea how to operate such a thing. He had only received rudimentary training in the use of Jump Packs. And this, he was certain, was far from rudimentary.

Then he remembered how the armor had responded to him in the first place. So he thought about the thrusters of the great battle barge _Emperor's Resplendent_, a Blood Angels Great Crusade vessel, firing off in the cold void of space. And much like before, the armor obeyed, jets of flame bursting forth for a moment. Curious.

He expected no less from such an arcane piece of technology, constructed by the Emperor himself at height of humanity's collective capability and progress. If anything, flight capabilities and control by mere thought should've been among the lesser qualities of the armor. But he would explore those at a different time.

He focused his thoughts once more. If a mere recollection had led to them firing once, it seemed concentration would be required to keep them firing. So he focused on roaring jets of flame once more, and soon enough, they ignited again, keeping a steady flow that gradually increased until he was inches off the ground. He could feel residual heat in his back as well, another set of thrusters that had shifted out.

He willed the armor to propel him upwards, and that he it did.

* * *

"**Why?**"

When he finally found the presence he had been looking for, Kronos begun to be gifted with visions. Small snippets and facts from his conscience. Another effect of the armor he now wore? He cared not to find out now, as he stared daggers at the man. He'd like to think that even through the artificial glow of his red optics, his gaze was still burning through him.

The man stumbled around in the darkness, dread clearly taking root in his mind. Yet, he didn't try and run away. He was not terrified enough to be paralyzed...so there was morbid curiosity there. Like a man inspecting the beast that would eat him when he was thrown to it.

"Why?" he asked again, breaking the pregnant silence between them. "Why do this?"

Kronos had been taught that in the heart of the traitor, only damnation could be found. There was no more use understanding them than there was understanding the alien monstrosities they had bled an ocean to vanquish. Yet, before him lay a man, who by the judgement of his newfound awareness at least, was wholly sane in mind and rationality. Who possessed no Chaotic "gifts", no corruptions from dark gods, no lust for power.

A simple man. So why would he have brought damnation so readily into this world?

"I won't ask you again mortal. Tell me: why?"

The man at last realizing that Kronos would not kill him, at least not immediately, seemed to relax, albeit only by the slightest bit. Kronos heard his heartbeat slow, smelled the fear pheromones from him decrease, saw his pupils narrow, albeit only by the tiniest margins as he rose to his feet shakily. Undetectable signs to most.

Except for him. This man was an open book to him, even not factoring in his Warp senses. Yet, for the life of him, he could not understand how this man, seemingly sound of mind unlike so many of his brethren, followed the vile gods that he did.

And at that, he gulped. Kronos could see the split second of his saliva being sucked into his mouth. It disgusted him. Some things were meant to be left unobserved.

"I did...what I had to do."

That response annoyed him. Not enrage him. He was beyond being enraged by such a petty pawn. But annoyed him immensely nonetheless.

"You are not answering the question wretch. My patience grows thin."

The man paused, before releasing a long sigh. Kronos noted the water vapors being exhaled from his mouth.

"Once upon a time...I was merely Kelvar Zeno. An adviser to the Planetary Governor. A humble priest that nonetheless held some power. I followed the word of the God-Emperor, the word of my superiors, the word of my creed. I was a humble servant. I did what needed to be done."

Kronos quirked his brow at that. _God-Emperor?_ Had this world been one of the vassals of Lorgar before his corruption? A planet brainwashed into believing his lord was a deity?

"All I wanted was to meet one of the higher members of the Ministorum: something to validate my existence fully," Zeno interrupted him from his thoughts, continuing his story. "I was happy with the Emperor's peace being my only reward. But someone coming from His holy agency itself to recognize me? I could only dream of it. Yet one day, it happened."

Kronos' mind was filled with this troubling information. Doubts, questions, and the like clouded it for just a split second, before he focused again. He would pay them no heed now. And likely never again, if he were to be lucky.

"A Confessor: a holy man meant to enlighten whole planets to the Imperial Creed. A priest like me could only dream of ever having such sway. Yet dream, I did not, after encountering him. Colavious, he was called," at that name, Kronos could hear the subtle shift of his vocal cords. Disgust, hatred, bitterness, regret, all laced in that single word. "And only then did I begin to understand...just who I was helping..."

"He slaughtered men," he spat. "He butchered women. Burned children. And for what? Lack of faith, I was told. These ideas of righteousness, given form by the mind of a madman, and completely justified by him as word of god. It sickened me."

He swallowed hard.

"For a while, I was lost. I did not know what to believe. How could a holy man err in such a fashion? How could he be so utterly wrong, so conceited as to make me sick to my stomach? I was lost, until **they** began speaking" he said knowingly. "It was fleeting at first, whispers in my mind I thought nothing off. Then it grew louder, and louder, until I could do nothing but listen to it. Yet, I was not one to fall for their wiles so easily."

"They lied, and tempted, and lied and tempted. But I did not possess the will of a coward, nor the mind of a beggar. So I searched through the sugary promises to find nuggets of truth. And therein I found my new, true cause," the man said. "The Warmaster."

"Lupercal?" Kronos said with worry, though the deep bass of his helmet drowned it out. How could he be alive? He had felt his presence utterly obliterated.

The man before him looked just as confused as he was for a few moments before resuming.

"Horus? Of course not, he has been dead for 10 millennia," that at the very least lessened some of Kronos' worries, and infinitely amplified the rest. "No, his offspring is the one I follow. Abbadon the Despoiler as the Imperium calls him. But he is far from a pawn of Chaos as most know him."

"The man possesses cunning beyond most, and he has never taken on the mantle of daemonhood despite his rightful claim to it. Why? Because he does not wish to rule for Chaos. He wishes to use it for his own gain, and the discard it once he is done," the man halted for a moment. "Is he a tyrant? Yes. Insane? Most definitely. But what he will bring is infinitely more tolerable than the miserable filth I saw before me that day with that Confessor, and what I have observed since."

"I have traveled far and wide, and seen the worst of the Imperium. The hypocrisy, the hatred, the ignorance, the rage, the idiocy...it is all overwhelming. And-"

"So you decided to serve forces far fouler than the Imperium could ever be?" once more, Kronos' tone betrayed no hint of the cold hatred behind them. "You decided to help forces you could never hope to tame or move past? Look around you: do you see this Abaddon holding his firm grip over the daemon hordes you have summoned. Do you see his warriors not succumbed to the horrors of the masters they serve? Your ideal is a joke, a false dream you yourself don't believe in. Something you repeat to yourself over and over just to ensure yourself that you can be right. Don't deny it."

Zeno evidently did not. He remained silent.

"This is why you are here: you wish to atone for your sins. You think this place holy," the Custodian approached like a tangible shadow, now towering over the man, revealing to him just how great the height difference was. And as he stumbled back, falling again, it only became greater. "But there is no atonement here for you. Not now, nor ever. Treachery is inexcusable, but yours is the deepest kind of it. You desire to do good while actively seeking that which you know will cause bad. You are scum."

Kronos raked his spear across the ground for effect if nothing else, but did nothing else besides that.

"You disgust me. Your flesh does not deserve to be pierced by my blade. And that is why it will not be," Kronos said, taking his leave, strolling past the man as his heavy bootfalls echoed through the tunnel. "You will die here. Your remnants burned to ash by nuclear fire. And none will remember you. That is your legacy: a burnt world of charred corpses."

Kronos left the man to his plight, ignorant or most likely uncaring of how he remained on the ground, and the sobs that followed soon after.

* * *

Cackling powers fields clashed, arcane energies warped the very fabric of reality around them as the two psychic titans went back and forth. Their combined power enough to completely flatten a planet like no Exterminatus could, they nonetheless found themselves in a deadlock, as each took turns to cast their own horrible blights upon the other.

In the case of the Great Unclean One, it was mostly vile blasts of corrupting energy, lit in all the different shades of green and brown imaginable, dancing and twirling around like directed supernovas, their pestilence turning any unfortunate target they happened to run into to ashes. Rot and decay permeated around the beast, the very air near it becoming stagnant and poisonous.

In the case of the Son of Thunder, his answer to this corpus of disease was searing, hot flame. But not flame like any other: the true flame, flame that burned so hot it ignited the air into a soup of ions. His weapon in his battle, as it had always been since he'd been accepted into the hallowed ranks of the Stormseers nearly 3 centuries ago now.

Yet, even as the balance of power shifted and changed between them, Nergui knew he was losing. The beast's power was practically limitless, drawn from a pool Nergui couldn't hope to grasp. Whereas his, no matter how potent, was growing weaker by the moment.

A blast of maddening greens and bile smashed against his shield of electricity, and he could feel it slipping just that bit more. He would lose. It was inevitable. It was always going to be inevitable.

But then...he had never foreseen his demise. Plenty of psykers could not, but for some reason, Nergui was certain this time, it was not a lapse of judgement: it was intentional. The vision he had received, had been received for a very good reason. He was not meant to perish here, not with that golden guardian standing before him.

But he was not appearing anywhere. That was the hard part of the visions: deciphering what to wait for. How much of them was literal and how much was up to his interpretation. One part of it, the Four Powers had been fulfilled. The rest had yet to play out. He had to hold, if not for his brothers he could sense fighting tooth and nail down below, then at the very least to see the end of this thread of fate.

A massive swing nearly knocked him out of the sky, and his attention was brought back to the monster before. It brandished it's monstrous spiked club once more, moving deceptively fast for a creature of it's lumbering size. It swung again, but once more it missed, and this time Nergui was ready.

A chain of lightning erupted from his protective sphere, wrapping around the creature's outstretched wrist, sizzling away tainted flesh and bone. It snarled, more so in annoyance than pain, before it's arm was yanked by the makeshift whip, as another blast of Warp-charged electricity cackled toward it. Nergui felt his brain wracked with pain, his nerves stretched to their limits by the attack, his soul bending under the sheer might he was calling upon. But he would endure.

The blast pierced the arm, severing it entirely, leaving a charred stump behind. The Great Unclean One emitted a dull roar that sent acidic spittle flying from it's mouth, before one of the many cancerous growths in it's back began to enlarge, emerging like a pillar. Once it became big enough, the creature used it's remaining arm to break it off, forming a new club for itself.

And as Nergui saw, it's other had already begun regenerating, the mark of his powers disappearing quickly. If he were to banish the beast entirely, he would have to do so quickly, before he exhausted himself fully, and also before the monstrosity had any capacity to regenerate.

His eyes flared, golden light turned to shining white, all his strength poured into one psychic blast. The primordial annihilation, the most horrifying art of any psyker: the Holocaust. A move so powerful it could erase a soul, daemon or otherwise, entirely.

The invisible wave of force slammed against the monstrous rotting creature, and immediately he could feel his mind touch against the putrid, joyful husk that inhabited it. A battle of will commenced, both forces pushing against each-other relentlessly.

Yet, at the end, Nergui was simply too tired and the daemon too powerful. His ultimate move failed, and he received a backlash of psychic feedback. He nearly fell out of the sky then, but what ultimately brought him down was a club swing that could've barreled through a Titan's armor. He rocketed towards the ground, creating a large crater where he landed, the building that braced his fall entirely pulverized.

There he stayed, body and mind broken. He could feel cracks all over his skeleton, punctured organs and torn tendons anywhere his nerves stretched. He could feel his psyche reeling, exhausted from his battle and wounded from the aftershock of his failed final assault. He was not dead, not even close. But as he heard the stomps of a goliath approaching him, he knew his fighting chance had been spent.

Nergui raised himself, commanding his muscles to heal, his bones to mend, enough so he could stand on two feet again. His injuries were held together by his psychic will alone, and as soon as he lost focus they would fall apart, potentially even worse than they were before. But he would not face death lying down like a coward. He would spit in it's face, like any true son of the Khan.

The Great Unclean One stepped into his view once more, the dust cloud spread too thinly for it to be veiled any longer, and Nergui could almost feel his eyes assaulted by the sight. It was one thing to see a herald of Nurgle from afar, it was another altogether to observe one so close. Guts and blood spewed unceasingly from it's torn abdomen, and pustules and scabs across it's body constantly spewed bile, pus and vile green ichor.

It released a deep, phlegm-ridden laugh, acidic spittle flying everywhere as it eyed it's prey. Nergui raised his staff, ready for one last glorious assault against the vile creature as it raised it's own weapon.

He never had the chance.

Like a thunderbolt striking from the sky, something big punctured the beast straight in it's stomach. At second glance, Nergui could make out the definitive shape of an intricate spearhead breaking through from the other side. The beast's laughter ceased as it lurched, puking out vile liquids Nergui could not even begin to imagine, along with hordes of Nurglings.

The spear did not stop at that position however. It started upwards, and the creature despite itself almost looked in pain. But stop the spear it could not, as it only got faster making it's way up the body, and straight through the head, splitting the great beast in two from the waist up.

The carcass fell to the ground, and Nergui didn't think for an instant as he set it alight with Warp flame. A small amount compared to what he could usually summon, but it would be enough to finish the job and make sure the body did not regenerate: few things were tougher than a Nurglite daemon.

After that was done however, he could finally look upon his savior. And what a sigh that greeted him.

He never would've imagined to see the Emperor's own praetorians in the flesh. Their duties were far too removed from Terra itself, and even Space Marines seldom had the opportunity to witness the Brotherhood of Demigods in their lifetime. But what stood before him now was exactly that, a Custodian: a guardian of the Emperor without peer. And what a Custodian he was witnessing.

He towered over every Astartes Nergui had ever seen, sans those venerable brothers interred in Dreadnought. The Stormseer, a considerably imposing figure himself, looked like a dwarf by comparison. Yet that was not what stuck out to him the most.

In this golden legionary he saw his vision come to fruition. He could feel his presence was the same as the one he'd observed. So enraptured was he in this thought that he barely noticed him holding out a hand.

He grasped it firmly with his own, ignoring the pain that shot through his ruined bones. In that brief contact, he felt their minds brush against each-other, however briefly. Vital information was shared, and then the gesture ended.

No words needed to be exchanged after that. Time would be plenty for such a thing on board the ships. A quick nod was all that was needed, and they were off once more.

Nergui did not posses the power to take to the skies again, and he estimated that he wouldn't for some time. But that was irrelevant, as they made haste to the site of the greatest fighting. He hoped Batu and Gan would've been enough to hold back the tide.

And sure enough, they were doing just that. Nergui couldn't help but smile. Even with so much against them, his brothers fought like cornered lions. But they were being overwhelmed nonetheless, surrounded on all sides by Nurglite filth, their armors cracked and broken, drenched in the various bodily fluids the daemons let off simply by being near, let alone being killed by Combat Knives.

Nergui frowned at that. There would have to be much inspection afterwards to prove they were not tainted. But that didn't matter now, as both he and the Custodian joined the battle.

Even severely injured and tired the Son of Thunder was an unstoppable force against the daemons, his mere gestures flaying them alive, as his staff caught fire and burned through a dozen or more of the abominations. Yet, the real changer of tides was the warrior beside him. The instantaneous dispatching of one of the most powerful and dangerous beings in the galaxy was only the tip of the iceberg it seemed.

The Custodian moved with speed Nergui couldn't even track. A mere twitch of his form and a dozen of the monstrosities before them lay bisected on the ground, the warrior meters away already, tearing into the next wave as if teleporting around the battlefield. His spear struck with precision and force he had never observed in all his long centuries, each blow a lethal one even for their supernaturally tough opponents.

His spear however, was not alone in the carnage. A beam of energy erupted out of it every few seconds, a secondary weapon clearly affixed next to the blade. turning daemons into smoke, atomizing their immaterial flesh. His gauntlets also got in on the action, tearing through flesh and bone like wet paper, cackling with energy much like the spear tip itself did.

This way they made their way through to their compatriots, hundreds slaughtered mercilessly in a scant few minutes. Again, words needed not be exchanged, though from glancing surface thoughts he could tell both Batu and Gan were confused. Yet they had no time to chatter, as Batu took lead, urging them towards a direction only he seemed to know.

The Custodian surprised him once more as he firmly grasped all three Astartes, along with small child that had somehow remained unscathed throughout the entire ordeal easily, before two wing-like structures with jets on the ends emerged from his back. With a dull roar, they erupted into plumes of fire and smoke, soon carrying the massive body and all others grabbed by it to the skies.

Several tonnes took flight without so much as a hitch, and the Custodian did not need to urge Batu before the latter provided directions with hand motions. The flight was short, the engines of the massive armor working tirelessly and with unprecedented speed for a flyer, let alone a simple airworthy suit. He slowed down as he neared the ground, before shifting from horizontal position to vertical, letting all three Astartes down gently before plopping softly on the ground himself, Mira in his arms.

Only after all that, did they have time to converse. And of all, it was Gan to initiate the conversation.

"Custodian? Kronos?"

His tone was disbelieving, even shocked perhaps. The mighty golden warrior simply nodded in return.

"What...what happened?"

"Far too much to explain right now, Gan. But let us just say that I found something far more valuable than I ever could've imagined beneath the sands of this seemingly inconsequential world. I will explain everything when we are safe, but in the meanwhile," he turned to the other bewildered White Scar. "Batu, when will our extraction arrive?"

His brother stood silent for some time, seemingly as confused by the Custodian as Gan was, but he simply shook his head before speaking, clearly filing his doubts for later.

"I was not told with certainty. All I know is that it is, hopefully, coming. I can relay no more than that," he sighed, and only in that moment did Nergui understand how exhausted he was. How exhausted they all were. "Now we await. It is the only thing we can do."

And so they did. Nergui performed a rudimentary scan of his brothers in the meantime, judging them for signs of corruption. They were apprehensive, though that was only understandable given what they had been through. Nergui himself was not feeling close to optimum, and he knew even with his psychic skills working full time to heal him it would be some time before he did. He could only be glad he had not detected anything, but a more thorough examination would have to be undertaken as soon as possible.

The Custodian simply stood, rigid as a statue, his gaze and thoughts unknowable through his helmet. Yet, he stood specifically over the comatose child, never once shifting from his position. Nergui could only guess he had some reservations, but he did not question anything more of the golden giant than to simply inspect her for the sake of witnessing any potential touch of Chaos.

It took a bit longer than it should've of, but the Custodian eventually nodded, and Nergui set to work on possibly the only survivor of this accursed world. She was clean as well from what he could tell, though there was always the possibility...

He shook his head. Another place, another time. He rose to his feet, giving an okay sign to the Custodian, whose relief could be felt even without any sort of emotion radiating from his posture. Thus they stood for some more time, Nergui using his powers to heal and purify the wounds of his brothers as much as he could.

Just as they began to get worried, something was heard in the far off distance. A short, quiet boom. Then another, a bit closer. And then they finally saw it.

The horizon erupted into a ball of fire, it's apex easily reaching into the lower stratosphere if Nergui had to estimate. Even their eyes took a moment to adjust to the immense flare of light.

"Cyclonic torpedoes," Batu muttered.

"Our death is here," Gan added, enraptured despite himself by the fireball.

The Custodian said nothing, though Nergui noticed the way he clenched his fists. He was not satisfied.

In reality, neither was Nergui. Just as he was considering erecting a barrier with whatever strength he had over them however, another roaring sound filled their ears. This one however, carried hope with it.

Soon enough the source of the sound made itself known, as a Thunderhawk careened toward them at top speed, coming to a dead halt only several tens of meters in front of them. No words were needed as they rushed towards the vessel.

They embarked one by one. The size of the holding bay was a bit problematic for the Custodian, but it was capable of holding whole tanks. He could manage.

* * *

Kronos stood transfixed by the sight before him. Aboard the _Crescent Moon_, the strike cruiser orbiting the planet, he could see in full detail how the world burned and died from the plexiglass windscreen of his hastily assembled personal chambers.

The death of a planet was always a solemn affair, especially one who had inhabitants upon it. And so he witnessed deserts glassed and scorched from the fleet, powerless to do anything about the fate of the world.

Batu and Gan were confined to the Apothecarium, undergoing both physical and psychic screenings. The child was being tended to by the human servants of the White Scars. He had already conversed with Nergui on the matters which needed to be discussed. He had liked this Librarian, or as the White Scars called them, Stormseers. He did not in general have a fondness for psykers, though he could appreciate the strength and mental fortitude he had witnessed firsthand, and he was in no position to judge given that he technically qualified as one himself now.

He had not had to explain his presence upon Sors yet. The White Scars were too busy dealing with the fallout of the disastrous campaign, and mourning their dead. And there were plenty of dead to mourn. Nergui however had let him know in no uncertain terms that he would be requiring information sooner or later.

Yet he could not think about that now. Nor could he join the Sons of Chogoris in their ceremonies. He did not belong there for one, but for another, he had far too much to do already. He picked the data slate before him with something akin to dread.

The 41st millennium. The very tail end of it no less. This was where he had been displaced. So much history, so much he had missed. Thousands of years of change he could never predict. And it should all be in here, the records Nergui had so graciously agreed to hand to him. The Custodes were the premier Imperial authority save the Emperor himself, but even so he would have to make time afterwards to thank him for his help.

However, now was not the time. He had several hours until the remnant of the White Scars and the other Imperial authorities converged. In those scant few hours he intended to run through everything he could. He turned on the first data slate wearily, this absurdly long day only getting longer by the second.

He had no idea how truly long it would end up feeling.

* * *

**Author's notes: **WASSUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUP BITCHES!

It's been a while and the whole fucking world is on fire. But here I am, bringing an extra long chapter to apologize for the long wait. And for all of you that have stuck around, thank you. It's been quite an experience writing this fic, even though I know I'm not close to done yet. However, the first arc of this journey is concluded now. Where to from here?

Who the fuck knows? But I will say we are going to be moving on to some more interesting things now. I never intended for this part of the story to last so long, and the fact that it's already exceeded the length of an average novel by a considerable margin is just...wow.

Another thing some of you may notice, the story has chapter names now. Yes, very generic ones, but eh, I'm not original. That's going to be my mundus operatii from now on.

As always, follows, favorites and especially reviews are very appreciated. I'd like to think to know what you guys think of the story so far as a whole, before I kick into the next gear. Until then, this is your friendly Internet Dome of Bones fucking off.


	18. Truth that Burns

Check the bottom of the chapter for notes.

* * *

He wept.

His rage, hatred, disbelief, had all but gone. Hours upon hours of hammering into the contents of his chambers had gotten rid of them for the most part.

So now he wept.

He wept for all that had been lost, for nothing to be gained. All the sacrifice, bloodshed, violence and more, all done for naught. A dying Imperium replacing his old home of hope and prosperity.

In his heart, he had already made up his mind. He had nothing to do, but follow the orders he had been given. Ultimately, that was what he was made to do. And they were very clear now. He knew why his father wanted him here.

But his heart was still weeping, nonetheless. He simply could not stop. All his conviction, his determination, his discipline. It could do nothing to stop the tide of emotion. At least, not yet.

So he wept, until he could not weep anymore.

* * *

Nergui did not need to open his eyes to tell who had passed into his personal chambers.

"Batu."

Though almost entirely sure of his pure nature, the stench of the Warp remained on his brother even now, and would do so for a while. It was only another reminder for the Son of Thunder to remain ever vigilant, for ruination could and often would strike when one was most unaware.

"_Stormseer,_" Batu said in their native tongue, kneeling behind him. Nergui merely dismissed the polite gesture with a wave of his hand, as he rose to his feet.

The warrior before him looked different. He wore the ceremonial robes of their heritage now instead of his powered armor, and his arm was still missing, Chuulunbold having had his hands full to accommodate the replacement of his prosthetic. But beyond that, and the physical wounds still to be found all over his body, his face seemed weathered, as if he had gone through another century of battle.

Nergui could not blame him: this disastrous campaign had taken it's toll on all of them. Of the 40 Battle-Brothers sent to the planet below, less than a quarter had returned alive. The enemy's organization had been masterful, their forces perfectly utilized. Yet, despite that, his brothers had fought like cornered lions, achieving what most post-battle estimates had placed as a 2:1 kill ratio.

Yet, no amount of glory in sacrifice could wash out the bitter taste left behind in the White Scars' mouth, nor the stab at their hearts: they had been duped, drawn to this battle like cattle to a slaughterhouse, all due to the incompetence of other Imperial elements. Squad Daichi, one of the Brotherhood's Assault Squads, and the only one present on-board their ship, had been slaughtered to a man. Other squads, such as Batu's own, had been maimed to a mere few members.

Only a single squad had remained entirely unscathed by the conflict: Squad Baavgai, their resident Devastators, had remained untouched, and that was only because they had been confined to the ship for most of the mission, their expertise not needed for what was supposed to be multiple simultaneous lightning-quick hit-and-runs.

Yet it was they who had braved the expanding nuclear fire clouds of cyclonic torpedoes to rescue the few brothers that had escaped the onslaught below, and that earned them in Nergui's mind valor no lesser than that of the survivors.

"_Stormseer?_"

Nergui shook his head, clearing his thoughts. The past was buried now, though remains themselves could not be extracted. The ceremonies had been carried out with the upmost speed. More proper ones could be conducted on their return to the rest of the Brotherhood. The burning world would have to serve as adequate cremation for their mortal coils.

"_A thousand excuses brother. Recent events have given me much to think about._"

"_They have...to all of us,_" Batu admitted sadly. He felt a strong grip on his shoulder. Nergui's smile was kind, and all that was needed to be told was conveyed in that one gesture.

"_The campaign draws to a close,_" Nergui said, looking out of the plexiglass window in front of them, to the burning ashes of the planet below.

"_This will not be one for the history books. Certainly not for those of honor at the very least._"

"_An unfortunate risk we all know must be taken before each mission brother. This is why no foe can be underestimated, no matter how weak they seem._"

Batu nodded, deep in introspection, though Nergui opted to not bear witness to his thoughts despite the ease of which he could have done it. He did not need to.

"_How is the Custodian?_" Batu broke the silence. Nergui was surprised that this was the first thing he asked about, though he supposed it was only natural. Between his sudden appearance on the world, the change in armor he had gone through that Batu had noted before, and his almost certain importance in Nergui's vision, the Emperor's Legionary had been an enigma no one aboard _the_ _Crescent Moon_ could crack.

"_Secluded within his temporary chambers. He has not emerged for some time, I have heard. Strange sounds have emanated from that room since then, but he has wished to remain alone, and so alone he remains,_" Nergui inspected Batu's face. "_Why do you ask?_"

Batu seemed uncomfortable for a few moments before speaking.

"_Although by his side I have fought and by his side I would've gladly died, there is much doubt in my mind about him Stomseer. How would he even be upon such a world? Are they not restricted to guarding the bastion of Terra, forever and always?_"

"_Officially it is so,_" the Stormseer nodded. "_However, I don't believe you possess doubts that they move around the galaxy in small numbers as they please, correct? It is the job of protectors to know all that plagues the stars after all._"

"_Yes, but why here? Now? Without even a means to escape? And that armor he wears...that is not the armor of the Custodes._"

"_Whatever the case may be brother, I'm sure the Kronos will explain himself when he has the_ time," Nergui spoke with conviction, despite his insecurities. "_But at this moment, he is our guest and we should allow him some time to recuperate from our unfortunate escapade. As we should ourselves._"

Batu nodded, though Nergui sensed some residual tension in his frame. He was not put at ease yet.

"_Is there something else bothering you, Batu?_"

He stood still for a few moments, seemingly intent on not replying, though finally he sighed as he turned to look at the Stormseer.

"_I worry most about Gan. The boy is shaken immensely. He's seen comrades fall before, but never to this extent. And, he's never..._"

"_Never seen one of them fall to the Ruinous Powers right before his eyes?_"

Batu nodded, eyes solemn.

"_If there is one thing I can criticize of him as a warrior and a person Stormseer...he looks too much to the past. It burdens him. That is the very reason he still stubbornly holds on to the Lascannon from his Devastator days, even in missions where it does not fit._"

"_So you fear this will leave an impression on him? That it will chain him to his grief,_" Nergui shook his head. "_Your worry is not without merit brother, but he is a warrior of the Adeptus Astartes. He shall prevail, adapt to his new reality. It is what we were made for._"

He placed his gauntleted hand upon Batu once more. Unlike the later, the Stormseer had not even had the time to remove his armor, looking hulking by comparison.

"_Leave him his time to grieve. But do not fret long. He will prevail. We all will. We have to._"

"_Have you ever considered joining the Chaplaincy, brother?_" Batu said, voice neutral though now bearing a small smile upon his lips.

Nergui laughed heartily.

"_I believe Bodol would have my head for that one._"

* * *

Batu marched towards the temporary quarters of the Custodian at a leisurely pace. He needed not hurry. They were Adeptus Astartes, of the First Founding. Even the Inquisition could be made to regard their schedules.

Though they were needed nonetheless. And Batu, along with the rest of the White Scars, were as eager to learn of the Custodian's mission as the Inquisition itself was. Of course, being the highest authority in the Imperium and practically the word of the Emperor Himself, Kronos could easily choose to not disclose the information.

Though he had made a promise, and Batu did not think the golden warrior to be one who did not keep his word.

The door slid open as he walked in, and was greeted with a scene he did not expect.

The room was in absolute shambles. Every piece of furniture had been broken and thrown, as if a hoard of angry beasts had rampaged throughout the chamber. The very walls themselves, made of adamantium, were absolutely filled with impact craters, suspiciously emulating the shape of fists. The lights were dead, either smashed in the carnage or turned off.

But Batu could see clearly, the savage visage in all it's glory. All except it's only possible perpetrator. Before Batu could even think about relaying the troubling development to someone else, a vice grip grabbed him by the throat, a giant's hand seemingly emerging out of nowhere.

He was in full armor now, but the Custodian, even ungarbed save for a loincloth preserving his modesty, was able to heft him up without so much as a single grunt of effort. Now, unchained from his armor, Batu could see the full scope of the warrior underneath: even one of the Adeptus Astartes paled by comparison. Rippling muscles of coiled steel laced a gigantic frame, that nonetheless, much like his armor, maintained a silhouette of agility and grace.

Yet his face was not at all partaking in the noble visage of a perfect human body. His eyes were red, tears yet sliding down his cheeks, and that alone boggled the mind. What could a warrior of the most elite order in the Imperium of Man ever discover that could bring him to tears, short of the Emperor Himself walking again?

But these were not tears of joy. The face before him was contorted into a bitter snarl, halfway between anger and contempt, and before Batu could ever draw a breath to try and get a word out, he was thrown.

Like a ragdoll, he flew through the air before impacting one of the walls, the collision leaving a large dent. Even without the indicators of a helmet on, he could tell where his armor was irrevocably damaged from the snarl of broken machinery.

He looked towards the Custodian, whose looks of fury had resolved into a sullen expression, his madness forgone in the face of something. Again, Batu was interrupted as he tried to speak:

"Thousands of years...so much loss...so much..." the Custodian slumped to his knees, resting his forehead on the floor. Resting immobile there, Batu took it as queue to descend from his ingrained spot on the wall. His armor protested, and so did his body, but he did so nonetheless.

He approached Kronos, keeping a safe distance yet not gripping his weapons. He felt as if that would only make things worse.

"Custodian?"

"Do you know who I am, White Scar?"

Batu was caught surprised by the question, though decided to humor the warrior if only to not allow him to slip into another fit.

"You are Kronos, member of the Adeptus Cus-"

"Wrong," the warrior now arose, and Batu found himself just the slightest bit annoyed at being interrupted yet again. But he couldn't voice that out. "I am Kronos Praesul, Custodian Guard of the 41st Shield Company, of the Legio Custodes. I am a child of the Emperor, a son yet a brother to him. And I am from a time before your ancestors were even born."

Batu quirked his eyebrows at that.

"What are you saying Custodian?" he asked with no little uncertainty in his voice.

"I am saying that through the curse of whatever foul creatures I have been brought into this Hell from, I am not of it. I am a warrior of the 31st millennium, a paragon of the Emperor during our most glorious days and our darkest hours. Not this bloated, infested carcass of an empire that charades around in the corpse of it's former self, built of legends and martyrs."

He turned around from the dumbstruck White Scar, and with terrifying coolness from his previous demeanor, continued to speak as he witnessed the view from his window pane.

"I read all that has happened in those years, and if even a modicum of them contain truth, I must weep until I run out of tears. I see corruption of the ideals of my sire, of our ideals, that boggles the mind and stabs the heart. I see destruction, death, carnage, of a magnitude I have never once observed, even in the stories of Old Night. I see our species' final hour approaching with blinding speed and nothing being done to change, to grow and develop, but only to rot away, to degrade and destroy."

"Custodian...you cannot be serious?"

"Do I appear as someone who would jest in such an occasion White Scar? Do I look like I am joking right now?" he asked now with force, his eyes drilling into the Astartes. "I have half a mind to kill you right now to set an example."

"Custodian, if you are threatening me, then I am sorry but I will have no choice but to retaliate."

"You will not. I have every reason to kill you," he said, a hint of disgust in his voice. "Look at you now: superhumans brought to the level of ignorance of any baseline. Thousands of years, and you too have lost your way. With no Emperor, no Primarchs, not even their original values, you too have become seeped in superstition, retardant tradition and laughable effectiveness. You lay upon a pedestal yes, but a broken one."

"Custodian, I cannot believe the words leaving your mouth. All you are doing is insulting without reason. You cannot honestly believe I will stand for such farce. If you had a legitimate argument, I may very well lay down my head for you to cut off, for you are tantamount to the Emperor's word. But I cannot take such words without consequence. You are not only insulting my honor, but the honor of my Chapter and Brotherhood, while sounding completely delusional."

"Am I?" Kronos said, his tone suddenly neutral, his face betraying nothing now. "Would you like for me to not sound delusional? Would you prefer if I showed you irrefutable proof? I do not think you would Astartes."

"Well I cannot very well continue to tolerate you as you are right now, can I?" Batu replied. "But I will not escalate this if you do not. However, if you are ready to explain and start making sense again, then that is a start."

They stood staring at each-other for a few moments more, almost as if the Custodian was weighing up the warrior before him, before once again closing the distance between them, faster than what Batu could perceive, and grabbed a hold of his shoulder roughly, practically dragging him before his armor.

The ornate suit had been left to one of the corners of the room, practically the only thing untouched by the Custodian's madness. It lay deactivated, it's crimson red optic lenses dull and lifeless.

Yet Kronos seemed to see something in the suit that was not there. Before he could question it, the warrior motioned to it's eyes.

"Look into the suit as it looks into you. It is linked to me, and it's own conscience is already aware of what I know. It will show you what I could never with mere words."

Batu made move to protest, though was quickly captivated by a sudden glint in the suit's "eyes". It was small at first, almost passable for reflected light from the distant stars outside, currently providing the room with it's only source of light.

Then it grew. A glint became a small ember, and that ember soon became a flashlight. And soon those golden orbs encompassed all within his vision, as Batu could only scream at the influx of psychic information.

* * *

The door was not so much opened as charged through.

Nergui snapped his head, eyes cackling with tiny lightning tendrils, only to see it was Batu once more. The recent situation truly had his battle instincts on an unnecessary fritz.

Then again, perhaps not, as his brother approached him in shambles, his face wracked with horror.

"Brother, calm yourself," Nergui said, attempting to exert his empathic aura over him. But all the expansion of his soul's influence met with was a trace of something on his brother. Some psychic aftershock, of a higher entity.

Nergui frowned. Was this the work of a daemon? It didn't appear like the psychic smell of one. But nonetheless, the way it had affected his brother was more than suspicious.

"Brother Nergui, you must come. Now," the tone of his voice was as worrying as his appearance, though there was a finality to it that Nergui could not help but go along with. For once, he separated his psychic feeling from his cold logic, realizing that his brother did need him for something important, something dire.

So he nodded, and followed Batu in the closest thing he'd seen to a panicked run in all his centuries of service, not forgetting to grab his staff in the meantime.

* * *

The Son of Thunder disconnected from the consciousness he had dipped into at last, feeling blood trickling from his ears.

Unlike Batu, a mind ignorant to the powers of the Empyrean, Nergui had felt every last drop of power and presence behind the soul fragment inside the armor. The will of an aspect of the Emperor, merged with the Custodian's own mind, projected into a voice like thunder inside his mind.

But the harm that had paled in comparison to the truths that laid bare before him. Stories told as ancient legends and proverbs now told to him as simple facts by a mind that had experienced it all, truths he thought adamantine broken and revealed as the lies they were, heresies of the deepest levels shown to him as simple matters of life in ages past.

For the first time in a long time, Nergui found himself speechless as he gazed at the warrior before him. No longer a mere member of the Ten Thousand, an already prestigious title, but something more.

"You now know. Know the pain of loss I have endured. Know the pain of the past, the present, and the future yet to come. Know what I must undertake."

Then, and only then, did Nergui finally respond. He bent the knee. Bent the knee as if his Primarch and gene-sire himself was there before him. There really was no other way to describe the feeling of being in the same room as the man before him. A man from an era he could not even fathom, selected by the Emperor Himself to be an avatar of His will.

"Kronos...by the Emperor, I...am sorry..."

"What is done is done. The past...is in the past. My goal now is to change the present, and shape the future," he said, staring outward, into the void of space itself. "I have lost much. All, perhaps. But that is what makes me stronger. Each one of you has something to hold onto, each person in this decadent empire. I am burned to the bone, stripped of everything I could have. I am nothing, therefore I can be anything. And the Emperor wills I be his weapon of reckoning."

He spoke steady, but his face told all of his current mood. Despite the words leaving his mouth, even now it was full of sullen lines, vistas into the broken soul of the individual below, concealed by sheer willpower and nobility. He looked exactly like so many battered veterans Nergui had seen, human and Astartes alike, men so consumed by that which they fought that they could only keep fighting, for the alternative was to give into their depression and simply lay down to die.

"I will need allies. Ones I can trust. I know no one in this new age. Not one soul," he turned around to stare at him. "But I have always valued those who were willing to fight and die by my side. Will you, Batu, and Gan lend me your aid, Nergui? Can I trust the Sons of the Khan?"

"The answer is always, lord," Batu said, for he really felt there was no more appropriate title. His face was calmer, but he could still see beyond that mask to the soul of the man. And much like his own, it was shook to the core. He could not blame his brother.

How was one supposed to react to such a situation? Nergui was not even entirely convinced it wasn't some daemonic trick, despite hating himself for thinking such blasphemy.

"Good. But we will require far more sway than that. Perhaps so much I cannot hope to gather it all at once. I bring a revolution to this Imperium, commanded by my lord and father. I may even need to battle orally against my own brethren, depending on how these Adeptus Custodes match to my ancient Legio. But first, I believe there is an important meeting we need to attend?"

Nergui too was suddenly reminded of what they were supposed to partake in in a scant few minutes, and nodded his head.

"Establishing good relations with all the Imperial organizations I can manage is a crucial step in what I must do. Even if the very existence of some drive me to wretch. We will meet with the Inquisition, and we will request of them what mere Space Marines cannot."

"My lord?" Batu inquired.

"I have learned much," Kronos said, a bit of venom in his lips now. "Much more than I would ever want to know about the fate of the Imperium. How it's structures have shifted and broken, reshaped into lesser versions of themselves. I see this, and realize the Astartes are not at the forefront of galactic affairs anymore. They possess nowhere near the power they did in their glory days as Legions. So I must adapt. An Inquisitor on my side...would make things significantly easier."

Kronos turned towards his armor, putting it on in a mere few moment thanks to it's shifting mechanisms.

"I believe you can take care of the teleporters, correct?"

He did not await for a response as he marched across the room, waiting by the doorway for the two White Scars to join him. They were yet too dumbstruck by what they had just discovered to tell how his fists clenched with enough strength to strain the plating of his suit.

* * *

**Author's notes: **Bit of a shorter chapter this time, mostly due to it being transitional and also, me just not wanting to wait a month.

Not a lot happens this time. Or maybe it does. I dunno. I can't decide for you. But things I hope will definitely keep getting more interesting as we go along with what I have planned.

I also noticed a spike in reviews recently, so that maybe prompted the writing of this a wee bit faster than usual. Keep that up and I might keep this up, **wink wink nudge nudge**.

Anyway, that has been all for this chapter. I hope you all enjoyed it, reviews, follows and favs are always appreciated, yadda yadda yadda. See y'all on the next one, Dome of Bones out.


	19. Truth that Warms

Check the bottom of the chapter for notes.

* * *

She stood inside the watery chamber, the liquid reaching just below her collar bone, though she was sitting on bent legs.

It was rather chilly for the unaccustomed, but she was far from an initiate when it come to such processes. In truth, she'd experienced far more arduous ways of displaying her devotion. But as one grew older and held more and more sway, so too was one allowed to express their faith more freely, by whichever method they deemed necessary.

Within reason.

The water she stood in was thrice-blessed. It's very chamber had been constructed out of material designed to last millions of years, inert and almost entirely insulating from the heat of the ship beyond. She already disrupted the holy water's presence enough by her lonesome. Anything else could not be allowed.

But then, that disturbance was why she commissioned it in the first place. Her own special way of showing her devotion. Detached from the mass congregations of faith that the majority of the ship partook in, especially the Sisters of Battle. She preferred to confess and cleanse sins on her lonesome. It had been part of her philosophy since she was a mere child: one and one alone could answer before the God-Emperor.

She did not come here to clean herself: she took several baths and chemical scrubs simply to enter the chamber. The water was not to be fouled with earthly filth. It was to cleanse the spiritual doubts away.

Which is why she particularly despised being disturbed. A single hour perhaps was too much out of an Inquisitor's time, especially in such a case, but so far she had been proven wrong in assuming that.

So far.

"Madame Catherine," she heard in a raspy, vocalizer voice she had gotten so used to.

She sighed, repressing most of her annoyance, though she was sure some of it remained on her face. The agent behind her awaited for her. She could sense his urgency through the mere smell he put out into the strictly controlled air of the room, sweat reeking off of him, though he was not stupid enough to not await for his superior to acknowledge him herself.

She arose, water dripping from her frame, now reaching just midway up her thighs. Her brown hair, stretching down to her upper back, was wet at the tips. She turned around, giving her servant a quick one-over with her sharp chestnut eyes.

She was entirely naked, though neither of them particularly cared. If not for the numerous scars running through her frame, she would have made a perfect specimen of the "holy human form", as some of the more death-seeking crew on her ship would comment. As it stood, no one could've told she was in her mid 60s by Terran standard years.

Rejuvenat treatments truly did wonders, though her current state, even in front of a man, didn't particularly matter. When one had served with regiments as stoic as the Catachans and the entirely uncaring Astartes, any shame tended to melt away. Besides, she was not certain the agent before her even had enough flesh left to appreciate such a display.

"Gladius," she acknowledged flatly as she stepped outside the pool. She grabbed her makeshift towel, a large piece of rough leather that she wrapped around her drying frame. It was crass, uncomfortable and often left her with red marks all over. But it was supposed to.

"Madame, I am terribly sorry for intruding on you at this hour," he said knowingly, his grill faceplate moving the only sign he was talking. There wasn't much emotion to a man whose remaining facial features were forehead and some cheek flesh, the rest replaced by cybernetics, even his very eyes. But Catherine didn't need to scout him out as much, as long as his intentions were laid fairly bare anyway.

"I would certainly hope so, Throne Agent," she muttered somewhat sarcastically, as they both moved for the door, the airlock automatically opening and shutting behind them, before another door in front of them opened. The adamantium hull of her personal vessel, beyond that of her sanctity chamber, bit at her bare feet with it's coldness and knurling, but she payed it no mind as they stepped through all the levels of cleaning rooms required to be passed before entering her personal chambers.

"So what is it that demands my immediate attention?"

"The White Scars madame. They demand an immediate meeting of all Imperial elements and commanders. Upon your vessel."

Catherine released a sound somewhere between a sigh and whistle at that. She was almost dumbstruck for a moment, before collecting herself.

"That is rather bold of them," she said as they finally arrived at her own quarters. Libraries piled with many recorded works, ranging from the mos highly sanctioned, to the most heretical, which were sealed under their own special measures. Data pads upon data pads, some outright broken due to sheer disuse. Trophies and commemorations taken from distant worlds.

It was all very personal and upfront for the room of an Inquisitor, though Catherine always valued her humanity beyond the cold, calculating demeanor of some of her colleagues. If people were so idiotic as to try funny things because of it, they were welcome to meet her wrath.

She was still a member of the Holy Ordos. Worlds had burned by her mere word, the planet below another added to the admittedly unpleasant, but rather short and necessary list. She took no joy in it, but was beyond feeling horrified at it.

"The Sons of the Khan, honored be his name, have never been ones for propriety madame. They are loose cannons through and through, shaped by their savage homeworld. The sheer fact that they so rudely demand your presence when you had already set a time of meeting tells as much."

"Aren't most Astartes to an extent, Gladius?" Catherine casually walked to one corner of the room, producing something from a stand. A full body glove, much the same as that of the Sisters of Battle, which she quickly slipped into. Putting such a delicate piece of equipment on without proper help was usually incredibly difficult, though she was nothing if not graceful, and with how much practice she had received over the years, it was done in less than a minute's time.

Something got stuck inside the neck fold of the suit, and she dug into it, meeting the bare flesh with her gloved hand, and fishing out the only belonging she dared bring with her into the sanctity chamber. A miniature Crux Terminatus hung from a thin golden chain around her neck. The Chapter Master of the Howling Griffons had informed her that it was made out of a real Crux Terminatus.

The battle standard of an ancient, venerable Terminator Captain, melted down and kept in the reliquary as hundreds of these amulets, to be given to only the most honored of the Chapter's allies. A fragment, however tiny, of the Emperor's armor resided there. A shard of His majesty hung around her neck. She spared a kiss and a quick muffled prayer to it, before heading back towards the center of the room, where a large pad could be found.

"Especially a First Founding Chapter. Yes, madame, I know. It does not mean I am not allowed to criticize them far out of earshot."

"Spare the Scars your righteous wrath," she said, a slight smile playing at her lips. "They have lost much blood today. All because of some very deceptive and admittedly, very clever traitors."

"You have taught me to doubt in everything, my lady."

"Indeed, but not our closest allies."

"I believe you said they were the ones most worthy of being doubted."

"Perhaps," she said, as her smile increased just the slightest bit. "But that is for me and me alone to do."

"Speaking of which, how goes the purging?" she asked, as the pad began to open up.

"All Sorsan ships have been apprehended and are currently being mass interrogated. Those who are truly innocent will be allowed quarter, though most of them were purged in the initial misreport the traitors handed us."

"Are you sure about that?" she said, the smile not leaving her lips.

Before Cladius could speak again, something took his attention for a few seconds, before his frame became animated again as it was used to.

"I have just received a vox report that over 15% of the Sorsan regiments are being found taint-free, far higher than initial expectations," he said, his mechanical eyes doing the closest thing to squinting as they could. "You planned that, didn't you?"

"Some quickly infiltrated moles and misinformation can do wonders. It seems the ones on the ships got the short end of the intelligent stick," she almost allowed herself a dark chuckle. There few things better in this galaxy than outplaying the servants of Chaos at their own mind games. "These fools and traitors attempt to divide and conquer. But they forget I can do so tenfold."

"And what about the Scars? Were their casualties calculated in your plans as well?"

Her smile dropped at that.

"Your envenomed tongue is good sometimes Gladius, but you really must be more mindful of it."

"Forgive me, madame. I meant no disrespect."

"Yes, yes," she waved nonchalantly, as the pad finished, displaying it's contents. An ornate suit of human power armor stood there, again much like that of the Adepta Sororitas, though far more decorated in Imperial iconography and parchment than would be standard for most. A master-crafted Bolter stood mag-locked on it's hip, designed specifically for her and only her to fire with the upmost efficiency.

With this she was going to need help, as the opening pad had also revealed a pair of Servitors, which set to work removing parts of the armor and grafting it on her frame.

"And to answer your question, it appears the fools aboard the ship were kept as in the dark about the true gathering underneath our feet as we were. It shames me to admit, but the treachery that befall our allies was not something I could've prevented."

"Our Ordo demands of us much, Gladius. Perhaps more than any other. It is our job to scour the broken, cracked mud of this Imperium, and pull heresy like a bad weed. But sometimes, you cannot pull the roots. Sometimes, you may be dealing with a mighty tree, which you simply cannot budge. That is when you must grab a can of prometheum, and burn the roots you cannot pull out. But the possibility of you being burnt in turn by the flaming cinders...is always there," she finished, as the last of the armor was put on her.

"Ever wise, madame."

Dressed in her armor, something could be seen about her that was not there before. There was a powerful regality to be found to it and her features now, even beyond the prominently displayed Inquisitorial symbols all over her frame. To those few that knew her personally, there was a clear distinction evident: that of the Catherine within the armor, and the one without.

"When do the Scars desire to meet?" she asked after a few seconds of silence. Her voice bore little emotion now.

"As soon as you grant them approval to teleport on board our ship madame."

"That impatient?" she mused, though her voice remained unchanged, with perhaps just an extra hint of curiosity. "I fear this is no mere tactless display from our Astartes allies. They must have something important should they be so urgent in contacting us."

She finally turned her head properly towards the man.

"Very well. Inform them that they have permission to board the ship. Inform Amelia that I require her presence as well."

* * *

Kronos moved through blinding light, his soul between the world of the living and that of the dead.

There was some peace to be found here, along with a feeling of profoundness. His being, material form and immaterial might, conjoined here, the differences between these two halves melting away.

And then it was gone, the energy of teleportation beacon sizzling as the light receded, and once more they became one with the material realm and it only.

Already he could feel a thousand new presences, each soul shining in it's own way, each one picked up by his Warp senses, while his physical ones picked up all the vivid telltale signs of human activity.

Engine oils, sweat, blood, and more hung in the air. His eyes scanned through the tens of faces who were there, each one displaying signs of shock. He could taste their unease. Hear their chatter, mumbling and heartbeats quicken.

Once, he may have thought so much information would make him sick. But it did not. His body simply had adapted.

"We all remember what we must say, correct?" he voxed to his two followers on a private channel.

They both supplied clicks of confirmation through their helms. Batu took center, moving slightly ahead. Nergui came second, on his right, while Kronos stood further back on the left.

It was only now, in the cusp of his plan that something else became apparent to him, something that had not been relevant in his thoughts since his revelation.

"How are Gan and Mira?"

"You pick a most inopportune time, my lord," Nergui voxed. _Lord_. That word still sounded strange coming out of his mouth, though he supposed there really was no other way they could refer to him after experiencing his story.

"They have yet to arrive. You can spare a moment to tell me, correct?"

Silence, then another click of affirmation.

"Gan is recovering well, however with such a loss...even an Astartes has trouble coping, you must understand. As for Mira..."

"Yes?" his voice remained entirely steady, despite the imagined shift in pitch to worried that he feared might leak through.

"She is stable. However, she has not awakened. And her mental state is distressed to say the least. Nightmares are poultry compared to what most suffer after such a profound exposure to Chaos, but I fear her's might be the precursor to something worse."

The Custodian stood in silence somewhat, as they passed through the teleportation hall to wherever Batu was leading them. Then he nodded.

He had a duty to uphold, and a reputation he would need to keep unbreakable as an adamantium shield. He could not show more than basic concern. For now.

Now the baseline humans around them were beginning to understand what was truly walking beside them. Recognizing at last the familiar shape that really should've rung bells from the very beginning, mortals descended to their knees, some even laying down on the floor before a guardian of the Emperor.

It was all very ceremonial, over the top and terribly unnecessary. None of the subdued but profound reverence he had once enjoyed as part of the Emperir's Legion, though he could expect nothing else of such a backward age, where each individual thing he had read about seemed like a joke with no punchline.

A morbidity...that was now simply reality.

Even the architecture and build of the ship around, carved into the Gothic style of construction so omnipresent in this era from the mere few pict-feeds he had observed, down to the tiniest decorative memorabilia. It was all in stark contrast to the sleek beauty of now ancient Imperial design.

Kronos tried to not be mindful of such details, though they corroded their way into his skull like acid, poisoning it and leaving a bad taste in his mouth. So much lost...

But again, forwards he strode. His personal breaking point would never be reached. Not as long as he had the will of the Emperor behind him. So long as even a shred of it's existence still remained, he would brave a thousand corrupted Imperia in it's name.

At that, they finally arrived before a grand hall, where several figures were waiting, though displaying no lesser awe on their faces than the humans before them.

All aside from one. A brunette woman, clad in power armor, standing in front of the entourage, had a stone-faced expression even under the sights of three of the Emperor's own off-shoots.

Kronos did not need to ask, for he already knew who she was. The numerous symbols draped and forged all across the armor told him as much. Yet for the first Inquisitor he had seen, he did not know what to make of her yet.

The small group at last converged with their host. A momentary tension seemed to flare forth from the larger group, though it quickly suffused as they all dropped to their knees in sight of the golden giant trailing the two Marines.

All except the Inquisitor herself, who bowed deeply and respectfully, though never touched the floor, and resumed standing upright quickly.

Kronos immediately knew what this was. It was a show of authority. That he may be a superior force, but that she was not be underestimated. That drew his attention somewhat, and for good grace alone he too inclined his head towards the woman.

"White Scars. Custodian," at that word, her facade did crack a little, as he could detect the trace of uncertainty in her voice. "I am Inquisitor Catherine Astoria, of the Ordo Hereticus."

Without much acknowledgement she continued.

"Sister Amelia, Canoness of the Order of the Valorous Heart, and her squad; my personal entourage," as she finished, the Sisters all raised themselves from the ground. The one in front, whom he assumed to be Amelia, rose the last, a deep matriarch's face edged with many scars softened somewhat by it's curiosity and reverence.

"Gladius Craigor, my personal aide, and Inquisitorial Throne Agent," she said, as a heavily augmented man rose to his feet. At the mention of that name, Batu tipped his helmet toward him, which Gladius returned with a pause.

"Admiral of Battlefleet Victoria, and supreme commander of this battlegroup, Maxim Castor. Captain of this vessel, Alexis Hawke. Lord Commissar of the battlegroup-"

The listings went on, as the entire gathering eventually rose from the ground. Kronos filed away their names for later use, of those he could find use of. Most were officers he did not need to know. At last, the Inquisitor concluded her count, as each member of her command staff, numbering two dozen or so, was situated on their feet.

"Batu, liaison to you, my lady," the White Scar said as he removed his helm, tipping his head in her direction.

"Nergui, Stormsteer and acting commander of the 4th Brotherhood of the White Scars situated in Battlegroup Riptide," the Son of Thunder too removed his helm.

And at last, the one everyone in the room was holding their breath for. The Custodian took off his helm as well, revealing his features to the assembled there. He was surprised to see their awe increase, some of them even audibly gasping.

Until he remembered the far greater effect that seeing the Emperor or his closest sons, the Primarchs, had on people. Could he too be projecting such a psychic aura now?

Contemplation about his nature would have to wait however, as he looked upon expectant faces, especially that of the Inquisitor herself.

"Kronos Praesul, Custodian Guardsman, 41st Shield-Company, Champion of the Emperor, beloved by all," he said flatly. No one there needed more info than that. "I trust Batu and Nergui can fill the rest of your command squad in with the details, Inquisitor. However, as it stands, I require a personal audience with you. In private."

Such words would've seemed bold coming from any other person: requesting immediate teleportation to one's private vessel, explaining barely anything and then immediately demanding special privileges from one of the most powerful individuals in Imperial space.

Yet those words came from the mouth of a Custodian, whose requests were paramount to that of the Emperor himself, and although he could sense the hesitation within the Inquisitor, he knew there would be no way to refute him. Some may take joy in such absolute authority. Kronos cared nothing for it. If he had to throw around his position to be a more useful servant, he would.

The Inquisitor provided a small nod, before turning around and motioning for Kronos to follow her. He mag-locked his helm to his armor, as he caught up with her, going through a tunnel and leaving the rest of the group behind to do whatever it was that they needed to do in regards to the debriefing and record writing.

The corridors of the ship were barely spacious enough to accommodate his massive frame, and to simply not overtake his host he had to slow his walking to the most moderate pace, what with the woman reaching up to his abdomen at most.

The majority of the walk was spent exactly like this, total silence engulfing the both of them, aside from their footsteps and whatever noise they happened to greet across the insides of the ship.

* * *

"Your personal quarters I presume?"

"Indeed."

Kronos did not spare much thought to the considerably-sized room. What the Inquisitor did with her personal belongings mattered little to him. Though he was curious about one thing.

"Oftentimes Inquisitors simply commission a ship for certain purposes, and then dispose of it, integrating it back into the mainline Navy or merchant fleet, correct?" he waited until she nodded to continue. "However, I seem to be under the impression that this is your personal vessel."

"That is correct. I requisitioned this ship over 20 years ago, and it has been mine since," she said, as she grabbed a metallic seat from somewhere in the room, sitting down but never splitting her eyes from his own for a moment. "Some Inquisitors prefer the more subtle approach of sneaking in through Imperial Navy vessels, or disguising themselves as Rogue Traders or other merchants of the like."

"Of course, I find that such subtlety is lost on me, as I am frequently called whenever the situation has already gone beyond shit, if you will forgive my language. If anything, it's somewhat driven my reputation for the majority of my career that," she spoke without missing a beat, and Kronos could not tell if her eyes were blinking or not. "But don't let me bore you with needless fluff."

"You keep staring into my eyes. You will not find what you are looking for there."

"And how do you know what I am looking for?"

"I have my ways. Ways that I would think you of all people would recognize as far superior to you own."

At that, she straightened somewhat in her seat.

"I am not here to be prodded by you, Inquisitor. I require your compliance, nothing more."

"And why should I give you it?" she said, her eyes returning to his own. "For all I know, you are violating the Lex Imperialis by being here. And a mere Guard cannot command me."

"I can however kill you with no repercussions."

"Would you truly however?"

"Perhaps not. However, whatever suspicions you believe need to be put to rest. This armor," he dinged his chestplate with his index finger. "Needs to be returned to Terra."

"And what is so special about it?"

The irony of the question was not lost on either of them.

"It is called the _Armatorum Progressus_. It is an ancient relic before even the time of the Imperium, the prototype of all Custodes power armor, and the personal battle plate of the Emperor, beloved by all, during the Age of Technology. I do not think I need to argue with you why this armor being returned to Terra is of upmost importance."

At that, the Inquisitor's stone cold visage finally broke, as she stared with childlike wonder at the armor, as if she were seeing the Emperor himself. She rose up abruptly, her mouth held slightly agape, and Kronos' enhanced sight caught the steam increasing from her breathing ever so slightly, his heightened hearing laying bare the quickening of her heartbeat.

So many emotional pheromones were released into the air that Kronos could not properly tell them all apart. Yet, the Inquisitor was to be given credit for containing her excitement where her body betrayed it.

"H-how can you even know? Why here of all places?"

"Because the Emperor himself told me," the Custodian said, pointing at his chestplate, as the large ornate eagle folded outwards, revealing the blood red gemstone beneath, masked as it's eyes. "You may know him as a god and I as merely a brilliant man, but I am sure we can both agree that he is a genius: even struck low he has placed contingencies all across the galaxy, this armor merely one of them. It not only possesses the claim of a high feat of material science, but also that of immaterial science too."

"A fragment of the Emperor's very soul resided within this armor, and now it does so in me."

"T-that cannot be," she sounded almost frantic, as if the possibility of someone so casually mentioning the spirit of a god inhabiting them was a very threat to her existence, so insidiously terrifying that even one as stoic as her was scurrying back in fear. "You canno-this cannot- you are DELUDED Custodes, the grandeur has gone to you head."

It was almost amusing, seeing one of the supposedly most powerful and ruthless individuals in the Imperium devolving into a sniffling child. That is, if it weren't pathetic. Still, for the first time, Kronos felt a bit of empathy towards the woman. He could not imagine how ten millennia of developing faith would impact the growth of any human as they grew up, especially the ones that required being as fanatic as Inquisitors.

So he approached her, carefully, methodically, not intending to provoke any sudden reaction. He lowered himself to one knee to stare level with her.

"Your tell is the eye. That is what you utilize to do you job. I could see it in how you were probing me earlier," he said, now the roles being switched, as his eyes bore into her own terrified ones now. "I could bet you have trained to see the slightest variations, depending on how close you are. Even the slightest shift of the iris. So tell me...do I appear to be lying now?"

Her demeanor calmed somewhat as she formulated her response.

"And what ensures me you're not using your superior bodily control, down to the last cell to fool me? I have already looked and found nothing."

"Then look again," he muttered.

She obeyed, if only for her own curiosity, and for the briefest instance his eyes glowed gold.

Yet that instance lasted an eternity for her. In that mere moment, she saw the greatest triumphs of the Master of Mankind. The greatest glories of the Great Crusade. Thousands of superhumans warriors, tens of demigods imbued with her god's awesome power, and for just the briefest moment, a first person view of a memory of Kronos himself, feeling that presence.

The presence of the divine cloaked in barely mortal flesh, it's face concealed by a bright aura that both warmed and burned.

The experience ended, and with preternaturally fast reflexes, the Custodian caught the Inquisitor hovering on wobbly legs. He was not surprised to see her crying. He too would've cried, but for different reasons.

If he had any tears left.

"I am not...not worthy to grasp this armor..."

Placing her on stable knees seemed practically impossible, so Kronos opted for the chair instead.

"Spare me the religious fervor and indulge your unworthiness another time please. I need an answer Inquisitor," Kronos said firmly, looking into her face as he retracted himself.

Catherine was still panting even while sat, and her eyes seemed almost glazed over, only half-registering the world. A few minutes passed, before the woman at last collected herself enough to sigh outwardly.

"Yes. Yes of course. I will help you, in any way I can."

* * *

**Author's notes: **SUP BITCHES WELCOME BACK TO DADDY'S PLACE!

Surprised to see a chapter so soon eh? Well, I will say, it was certainly nice to get one down so quickly after so long. So for those of you ravenous for more of this trainwreck, I hope I have satisfied.

Speaking of which, holy smokes, like 12 reviews for one chapter! That's incredible. And also a big part of why I wanted to push this one out so quickly. I feel like the overwhelming support and me taking a break from a few other things has made me jumpstart myself into another gear lately. Will this last? I dunno. But you can certainly help **wink wink nudge nudge.**

Also, if you like golden banana men, expect to see something very soon on them in my other Warhammer fic...that being, the one-shot dump I haven't updated in months...Anyway, this is Dome of Bones signing out.


	20. Four Arms, Four Eyes

Check the bottom of the chapter for notes.

* * *

"So, did you tell her the truth?"

"Partially. I only showed and told her what she needed to know."

"Rather untrusting, are you lord?"

"There are parts of me that still argue on whether I should have told you two at all. And I am still unsettled by that wording."

"It is true however. Wherever you go in the Imperium, should you tell them even a tenth of what you did us or the Inquisitor, you will be referred to as nothing else."

"Well, it does not mean I have to like it."

Nergui ceased his meditation above the floor in cross-legged position, descending upon his own two feet once more and looking closely into the Custodian's features.

"Why so closed to the possibility lord?"

Kronos looked thoughtful, as he paced around the room, before settling on the one of the observation windows. The small battlegroup, consisting of roughly 15 vessels comprised of destroyers, escorts, frigates, cruisers, and the Mars class battlecruiser _Malcador Resplendent_, had stopped to refuel and prepare the world practically next door to Sors: Libra.

Libra was an underwater world with an absolutely minuscule population that was nonetheless important to the local trade. Due it's abundant natural life, the planet produced an absurd amount of fossil fuels, which like most combustible materials, could be converted into prometheum. The planet itself did not possess the capabilities to process the fuels, so bulk cargo freighters simply picked up all they could carry from what the local populace could extract.

The commence usually occurred on Sors, which was now a heaping pile of dead rock. The world was starved of currency, so the fleet would provide a small relief to it's population of four million or so, in exchange for all the resources it needed for the upcoming journey.

Kronos had memorized all this info, along with a generalized history course on the entire world in mere minutes. Yet another thing he had yet to get used to, his information processing capabilities were greatly boosted in comparison to an average human, though what he experienced now was on a whole other level.

"I am not a leader of men, White Scar. I cannot hold inspiring speeches that rouse my fellows to upmost devotion. I cannot organize vast bureaucratic organizations to suit my needs. I cannot rule over worlds. I was taught by my Emperor to be shrewd in politics, but never actually practice them myself. That is not what I am. I am a soldier, a warrior devoted to him. At most, I can be a general, an assassin or spy. Great roles perhaps, but still only suited wholly to the military arm of this empire. I am not capable of fixing this Imperium, and as long as I am not, I cannot truly accept anyone calling me lord, or any such title of governance."

"Then it is fortunate that "lord" is not merely a title of governance, is it not?" the Stormseer smiled, though it quickly dropped when he noticed the Custodian's somber mood. It was only natural really, he thought. Not one being in the Imperium could fathom the weight upon his shoulders. "Then how do you plan on fulfilling the Emperor's mission? You must learn Kronos, like all things, this art, for on Holy Terra the most dangerous battles are not fought with Bolter and Chainsword, but with words and paper."

"I was thinking...perhaps the Emperor already has one in store for such a task, one who would be a thousand times more effective than me."

Nergui arched his brow curiously.

"I thought you said he did not speak to you, lord."

Kronos shook his head.

"Not exactly," he turned around to face the Stormseer. "I find myself sleeping less frequently these last few days since my...merging. Even before, I hardly needed it. Custodes can survive practically indefinitely even in a complete vacuum and with no rest. But, it is optimal that we receive at least some sleep. Yet, I find mine is less disturbed by my own physiology, and more so because of...visions."

"Visions?"

"I cannot put them into words exactly, and I do not know if I interpret them correctly, but perhaps..."

"Perhaps I can help you with that?"

"I was hoping so."

Nergui nodded, and sat down once more, motioning Kronos to do the same. The White Scar was dressed in merely a ceremonial robe, whereas the golden warrior was still clad in full armor, finding it's bulk difficult to properly manipulate, though ultimately succeeding.

"The art of astral projection is useful for many things, though one of them is following "threads" of fate. By projecting yourself into the Empyrean, you are far more in tune with it. It is a far more profound experience than simply meditating on it, though it is also immensely dangerous. Warp predators lurk restlessly there, looking for their next meal and a psyker's soul shines like a beacon in a deep ocean."

"However, following threads of fate this way is far more accurate as well, than mere prediction. It is an art that receives begrudging respect, for not many can do it without losing their souls."

"Then what makes you assume I can do it? I may have the power of a portion of the Emperor's soul, but I am as unused to it as a babe, Stormseer."

"I can be your guide, lord. You need only find the thread, for we can follow it together."

Kronos seemed to think about it for a moment, before nodding.

"Then teach me, Stormseer."

* * *

"Gan."

The White Scar, still clad in his ruined armor he had refused to remove for days, roused from his trance. Batu himself was clad only in a loincloth and a robe haphazardly thrown on, having emerged from the training cages just minutes prior. He went to place his prosthetic arm on the younger warrior's shoulder, but upon looking at the scorched stump Gan himself had, decided against it.

Instead the firm but gentle grip of his remaining arm, now healed and whole, rocked the pauldron of his armor. Batu looked into his brother's face, but he was not focused on the old warrior, instead observing through a looking glass into a hospital cell.

In it, the prone form of the child they had rescued lay, breathing in a regular pattern.

"You have been watching her."

Gan nodded.

"It is strange. When I first laid eyes upon that child...I thought her a brat. Merely another mortal, but infinitely more annoying due to her insufficient age. Yet she saved our lives, even though from afar, on numerous occasions. She survived on a hellish desert world, wracked with war, murder and heretic bloodlust for weeks."

"She would've made a fine Astartes," Batu mused.

Gan paused, then nodded.

"Instead she is stuck to a hospital bed, unable to wake up and constantly spied and watched to make sure she does not unleash the stuff of the Warp upon us all. It is unfair."

"Gan?" Batu said, lifting his hand, worry plain in his features. The young warrior's eyes had darkened.

His arm shot up like a bolt of lightning, striking a nearby wall and denting the metal. But it was a momentary burst. His hand fell by his side, as his head drooped to stare at the floor.

"How much more can we sacrifice? How much can...can **humanity **sacrifice, before we are rid of these worthless, spineless hordes worshiping raving gods?"

"As much as it is needed" Batu said, his voice stern now. Grief was one thing, but there could be no appeal to weakness. "It is the Emperor's will. We were bred and built to endure the hardships no other man can, so that mortals may not. That is our duty. And only in death does duty end."

Batu grabbed the larger Astartes by the arm, lifting him to his eyes from his seat. His own adamant stare met a reluctant one, yet after a few seconds, Gan sighed as he closed his eyes.

"You are right. I am sorry Battle-Brother."

"Brother-Sergeant," Batu corrected, and at that a small smile played at his lips.

Gan's eyes shot open in surprise, then something close to reverence.

"You-you have been...?"

"In far shittier circumstances than I would've liked, but at the moment, yes. I am leader of the Unbroken."

"The Unbroken?" Gan asked, puzzled.

"We are no longer the 6th, or any other squad destroyed Gan. All survivors have been placed in the same Tactical Squad for now, numbering exactly ten. And that is the name we will bear to reflect our triumph, rather than our failures."

"...Did Bodol come up with it?" Gan said, a smile finally on his lips, though barely disguising his sadness.

"As a matter of fact, Chuulunbold did. Speaking of whom, come brother. We must get that arm fixed up. And we must meet the rest of the squad. It is imperative we all learn to work together for what is to come."

Gan gave him a questioning look.

"The Custodian requires us, Gan. You have missed much. We have a lot to discuss."

* * *

All three of them stood completely quiet. Neither Gladius nor Amalia wished to speak before their lady did, and said lady was finding it difficult to even properly articulate her words.

Finally, the feisty Sororita got fed up with the pregnant silence, and strolling straight into the Inquisitor's field of vision, spoke in a voice that was as brutish as it was delicate.

"With all due respect, Catherine, but what in the bloody Hell do you think you are doing? Surrendering control of the battlegroup to the White Scars, sending out an immediate call to action to all available nearby forces, compromising the Holy Ordos' authority by placing yourself in direct subservience to them? Have you lost your mind?!"

Catherine remained still, her head rested behind her hands, joined in a steeple. Gladius cleared his throat uncomfortably, which sounded more like a machine wheeze.

"While I do not agree with the exact wording Sister Amelia used, I will say madame, perhaps you are using a far greater degree of reverence that should be necessary in such an action, even for a Custodian."

"You do not understand," was her simple reply, said in an uncharacteristically petite voice.

"Then help us understand," Amelia spat, exasparated. "Throne on Holy Terra, I swore an oath of blood to you, _Inquisitor_. And I've yet to see a more loyal servant than Gladius. I know the rampant paranoia is a necessary part of your job, but this is ridiculous."

"Let me rephrase that, Amelia: you **cannot **understand," the Inquisitor said, and this time her voice was forceful, cold as ice. "What that Custodian showed me...there's no way to describe it. I can only tell you this: if that man...being is not one touched by the Emperor Himself, I don't know who is."

"You have never used such wording, madame. Even in regards to Living Saints you've seen and interacted with yourself."

"The more you talk of this, the more I grow suspicious of this Custodian. He does not even bear their traditional armor."

"Enough, both of you," the Inquisitor said, in a voice that invited no more argument. "The Custodian was explicit in what he told me. Even if I could properly express it, it would be far above either of your clearance levels. But I will tell you this: Holy Terra itself may be in jeopardy, and Kronos may possess the key to save it."

Both of them looked in each-other's eyes, one the epitome of confusion and even fearful, while the other mechanically cold due to his situation alone, though not faring much better on the inside.

"I will tolerate no more insubordination, not on this matter at least. The call has been made, and I have already received hundreds of astropathic messages heeding my call. If any other Inquisitor desires to overwrite it, they will have to go through me, the White Scars and the Custodian himself. This is final."

Begrudgingly, both of them nodded, and made to exit her personal quarters.

"Amelia, a moment, if you please."

The Sororita spared one last look to the Throne Agent before he departed, as she turned towards the Inquisitor, who raised herself off the table. There was an unspoken tension as the two women approached each-other, but it soon melted as Catherine's expression turned into a more delicate one. A rare side of her she only showed to Amelia, and occasionally Gladius.

"I am sorry Amelia. I truly am. You know I would never keep you in the dark without purpose," she said, resting her hand on her shoulder. It was a wasted gesture, for the Sister could not feel anything underneath her armor, though the meaning was not lost.

Amelia sighed. Of course, it was only natural. That did not mean it did not hurt.

"Just make sure you are right about what you are doing. I will not be so conceited as to judge one of the Emperor's own golden sons, but...all I will say is, the ruin of the Imperium thus far has been built upon false prophets."

"I don't think you would have such doubts if you saw what I did."

"Perhaps. Let us hope it will be so."

* * *

_Kronos opened his eyes, only to be immediately confused._

_His field of vision had greatly expanded, only for him to quickly realize that he now possessed four eyes. What he saw before him was not much easier to understand however, as he looked upon a seething pit of chaos, a trillion colors man had never laid eyes upon warring and strangling each-other. Creatures popping into existence only to dissolve back into the void._

_Vast shapes of incomprehensible size moving in the far off distance. Noises that would drive fear into the most resolute heart, completely different from any sound a creature of flesh and blood could ever produce._

_This was the place where ideas became forms, metaphors became literal meanings, and reality and fantasy had no distinction. It was Hell, through and through, however. Kronos could imagine no other place where such cacophony of psychic feedback would converge so violently._

_And he was alone. Whether the Stormseer had not yet found him or was still working on projecting himself, Kronos looked out into the darkness without any backup. Yet he was far from defenseless. Instinctively, he clutched a weapon._

_Actually two, as he stared down: massive spears of golden light sprung forth, each a replica of his own Guardian Spear, clutched in two pairs of arms: one lower emerging from his abdomen, and one upper, his natural arms. He scouted out into the veil of madness in front of him, yet the Warp beasts that lurked just out of reach stayed that way, never approaching his light, even for a glance._

_Then he saw it: a light in-between the darkness. A stable beacon in an ever shifting sea of infinity, approaching him. In a mere heartbeat, the Stormseer was before, looking a spitting image of his real self, only made of an ethereal white light rather than flesh. Kronos himself, from what he could see, was doing the exact same, though the light he gave off was gold._

**_Curious._**

_The Stormseer's lips did not move, for they did not need to. Their words were pure thought, conveyed to one another in psychic waves like voice traveled through sound waves._

**What is?**

_**Your form. Four arms, four eyes. Great feathery wings. I'd almost mistake you for a daemon, if it weren't for the resemblance to a Living Saint.**_

**Why is it so?**

**_I do not know. Each psyker capable of such a feat manifests differently. I've seen many a stranger avatar. Many appear as animals, some as chimeras, others still even stranger things. Although..._**

_Kronos cocked his head curiously._

**_It may be a result of your...unique situation: two souls merged into one. Four eyes, four hands, the wings of an eagle, like those of Old_**_** Earth.**_

_Kronos paused, before nodding. It made sense, somewhat, in the realm of the physical figurative that was the Warp._

_The Stormseer beckoned him, as he launched away into the depths. Kronos too moved, surprising himself as he powered through the darkness like a rocket, trailing Nergui. Two sparks, one of brilliant white and the other of blinding gold._

_Eventually, the Stormseer fell behind the Custodian._

**_It is your thread of fate to find. I cannot see it. You must guide us to it._**

_Kronos nodded, not entirely sure what to look for, though still attempting his best. Through the roiling tides of Chaos did he look. He did not know for how long. Time was strange here. Nergui had told him it was not even linear, but rather that it worked by whatever laws were randomly chosen then and there._

_Days, weeks, maybe even months passed by, or maybe it was mere nanoseconds. Or perhaps, that time had even gone backwards. Whatever had happened, after much searching, Kronos was drawn to something._

_A pinprick of gold, like a distant star, glared at him, catching his attention in comparison to the rest of the aether. He flowed toward it, the Stormseer left behind as the Custodian chased after the glint. It grew brighter and brighter, until it encompassed his vision. Reaching out one of his hands, he grasped it, only to be pulled, much like a spring coiling after being stretched._

_He was catapulted into what he could only assume was the vision of the future itself. The deep ocean of the Warp was gone, replaced by the starry sky of the Milky Way. Before him, Terra stood. But not the Terra he knew._

_Wracked in scars, from battles yet to come. Large sections of the continental crust entirely burned. And atop it all, the Star of Chaos. The eight-sided symbol was unmistakable. But, it too was broken, disintegrating._

_And above it all, another symbol was crushing it: the Omega letter of the Ancient Greek alphabet, wrapped in the golden wings of the Imperial Aquila._

_The symbol too was cracked, broken and bent. But never entirely destroyed. It stood resolute, a beacon among the stars for all humanity to witness._

_And just like that, it was gone. Like being pulled by rope towed by a great machine, he was dragged back into the insanity of the Warp. But even so, the Stormseer was there to greet him._

**_Did you find what you were looking for?_**

_Kronos spared a thought to the things he had witnessed. Several in fact. Too many to properly count, truly. But ultimately, he chose on one course of action that would ultimately decide the fate of his journey._

**I did.**

* * *

They emerged at the bridge of the_ Crescent Moon_, the ship now acting as the de facto leader of the battlegroup. Custodian and Stormseer looked upon their command staff.

The Chaplain and second senior officer aboard the ship, Bodol was the first to greet them. A giant of towering white ceramite, his skull helm cut an intimidating figure among even the other Space Marines, which betrayed the ruthless streak he executed the enemies of the Imperium with, but not the gentle words of encouragement that rang to his fellows in private hours.

Both remaining sergeants of the detachment were there, one old and wizened, and one new but no less experienced. Batu, the one the Custodian had fought alongside, and Ustgakh, whom he'd only met recently.

At last, there was Gan, whom Kronos had insisted be there, for purposes yet unknown to all of them. But they were merely the extent of his command crew within the ship itself.

Spread across the room, were many screen depicting pict-transmissions of every other important officer within the fleet. Captains, Commissars, and more were all listening fervently for the word of their new commander. Among them, the Inquisitor and Admiral also stood at the ready.

Removing his helm to observe all those assembled with his own eyes, Nergui followed suit.

"I apologize for letting you wait so long. But after consulting with the Stormseer, I have made my decision: we make for Macragge."

A torrent of discussion spread forth from the assembled mass of fleet officers, but a single staff hitting against the floor several times silenced each of them. Nergui ceased when the last voice fell, the sound of his traditional staff echoing as if present in every single ship in the battlegroup.

"I realize this may come as a shock to you all, and I too admit I believed Holy Terra was to be our intended destination. But it is not so. After counselling with most respected Stormseer Nergui, the word of the Emperor is clear as day."

"Our journey to Terra comes later. First, we must rush to the heart of the Ultramarines' empire. The Warp is turbulent, a storm brews," Kronos said, now looking outside the windows of the vessel, out into deep space where, like a blotch of spilled paint in water, the Eye of Terror churned and twisted with malicious energies. "Something terrible will occur. I believe you all have heard the predictions, and rumors. Whole systems blacking out, the Astropathic Choir on Terra being overwhelmed by cries for help, Daemon Primarchs emerging from millennia old slumbers."

A murmur of agreement now spread across the gathered. The only one who did not speak a word was the Inquisitor herself, who was watching the proceedings with a steely gaze.

"Whatever happens, when it does happen, we will need to be on Macragge. It is imperative. Our pathway to Terra leads there."

Kronos took a moment to stare into each assembled officer, before nodding once. Whether it was to himself or his subordinates no one could tell.

"You are dismissed."

The majority of screens flickered out, except for one. The Inquisitor, having remained silent throughout the entire proceeding, finally opened her mouth:

"What do you intend to do, Custodian? What is your purpose?"

"Inquisitor, I will be truthful with you. I am not entirely sure myself, but most likely," he spared a glance to Nergui. "Forge some new alliances...and witness the awakening of a sleeping titan."

Catherine stood for several more seconds quiet. That answer couldn't have satisfied her. But it would have to do, for now at least. They would see the results of their prediction when they got to Ultramar.

"You should pray that you are right Custodian. I sense damnation awaiting us all if you are not."

"I do not pray. You know that."

"Quite hypocritical of someone inhabited by God."

"Or entirely logical. To me he is a man. The most brilliant and powerful single man to ever live? Perhaps. But nothing more," Kronos finished, clearly not in the mood for such a discussion. He turned his back to the screen, his entourage following him, ready to leave the bridge, only for Kronos to pause and slightly turn his head.

"For whatever it is worth, I would consider praying if I did believe as you do however. I fear we face a living nightmare far greater than we can imagine."

With that, the Custodian at last properly turned his back on the Inquisitor, whose screen went black like all the others.

"Bodol?"

"By your word Custodian, the orders have been sent already. They were pending the announcement only. We depart in five standard hours."

"Good. What of the rest of your Chapter?"

"The White Scars hear Terra's call, Custodian," Ustgakh informed in a dry voice, the first time Kronos had heard the normally silent Devastator Sergeant speak. "Joghaten Khan rushes even now to meet with us, and offer his full martial might. He also brings reinforcements to replace at least some our slain brothers."

"Recuperate," Gan chimed in. "Never replace."

Before the conversation could go down that route again, Kronos decided to continue.

"And what of other forces called here? Who has responded?"

"Over 70 ships have hailed us their supports lord. Among them are the 3rd Company of the Doom Legion Chapter."

The group at last arrived at their destination: the observation deck overlooking the ocean world below, as well as the final preparations the ships were undergoing.

"It is almost beginning," Kronos said, looking out into the mass of assembled ships. He turned around again, to greet every Astartes warrior there.

"I am not one for inspiring speeches. But I will say, as a personal token from me, you are all dutiful beyond the necessary. This journey will be long, and hard. Much blood will still have to be shed, I'm afraid. But I do not think you care about any of that, if everything you've said and done is any indication," at that, the first smile in a long time graced his lips. "You are all men I could see myself fighting and dying alongside."

"The feeling is mutual Custodian," Batu was the first to say.

"Aye," Nergui forwarded.

Kronos nodded.

"We march for Terra, but most of all, we march for the Emperor."

"For the Emperor!" they all said, crossing their arms in the Imperial Aquila almost perfectly at the same time, which Kronos returned.

"Go back to you duties. We have much to do."

The Astartes dispersed, except for Gan, who was beckoned over by the Custodian.

"Gan, I would like you to be my sparing partner for the duration of this trip."

Gan had a look of surprise on his face bordering on shock.

"Custodian...I...certainly I am not worthy nor qualified. I doubt even our Brother-Captain Joghaten, who is the finest blade master I have ever seen, could measure up to you in a physical dance of the edged weapon."

"I do not need your finest warrior Gan. I need you. Will you accept my offer or not?"

Gan seemed to ponder for several seconds, before nodding, albeit reluctantly.

"It would be dishonorable to reject, Custodian."

"Good man," Kronos said, rocking his shoulder. "I will inform you of our first session. At this time, you understand, I am more than a little busy."

Gan nodded again, and they both departed, each to attend to their task, each with doubt clawing at their mind over upcoming events.

* * *

**Author's notes: **Wooooo, another new chapter. Between this and Pathos I am just on a roll lately. And so are you guys. Holy shit, 13 reviews last chapter. Let's see if we can top that ye?

Anyway, besides that, not much to say about this. I think you can have a pretty good guess of what Kronos saw right there, and why he's going to the home of the blueberries. If you've been paying attention since like, Chapter 4, you should also have a pretty good idea what's going to happen next.

Besides that, I have to say, always appreciative of the kind words, though criticism is equally if not even more appreciated. I truly do want to grow this story as much as I can, because seeing how it's going, it's going to be a loooooooooooooooong one.

That's all there from me this time. Catch y'all on the next chapter. Bone of Dome out.


	21. New Conditions

Check the bottom of the chapter for notes.

* * *

"Again," the voice demanded.

Gan picked himself up from the floor with a grunt, the scent of his own chemically rich blood in his nostrils, the taste in his mouth even as it dried up. The entire training cage smelled of it, along with sweat.

Yet none of it was from his partner.

With renewed vigor, he charged again, sword held ready to strike from above, only for it to be efficiently parried and him mercilessly kicked in the gut, the hit coming close to cracking his ribcage. All this happened so quickly Gan barely had time to blink, and even his superhuman reflexes couldn't compare to the one before him.

The Custodian didn't so much move as flow like water, as if every single cell in his body obeyed his mental commands. Limbs appeared where they logically shouldn't be capable of reaching so quickly, weapons handled with such precision he was sure it would even throw targeting cogitators into a fritz. He was a well-oiled machine, through and through.

"Your arc is too wide. You're leaving yourself vulnerable. Try to minimize motion when going for a killing strike."

He had found that the Custodian was equally adept at all martial arts, whether those purely of the body or with weaponry. No matter how skillful he thought he was, Kronos was always a dozen steps ahead.

"Your current limit is 4.56 seconds against me. Let's see if you can beat that."

With a frustrated growl, Gan grabbed his scimitar once more. An artisan's work, despite being only a blunt-edged sparing implement, it still handled beautifully in his hands, with as much grace as a real instrument of war. The Custodian meanwhile, brandished a plain, dulled cutlass, dredged up from the armory. He claimed his unfamiliarity with it only helped him grow past his weakness, though Gan could hardly tell as he nonetheless moved it like he had been born to wield it.

He launched into another attack, this time feigning a thrusting motion, which Kronos seemed to not recognize, before going for a side swing.

Which was immediately countered, with the blade thrown out of his hands, and the next thing he knew, the Custodian's own pressing into his throat.

"3.55 seconds. You're letting your frustration get the better of you. Again."

Gan didn't continue however, retreating to pick up his blade, bitter expression plain on his features as he made to exist the training cages.

"Gan."

He stopped, and looked around to see him. He wanted to do something raw, something angry. But he thought better of it.

"Tell me Custodian, what am I supposed to be learning? That you are so inconceivably superior to me, that I may as well be a child facing down an Ogryn? What am I supposed to do when all I can do is fail?"

"Try harder. And if that does not work, try some more. Even our Emperor was once born a mere babe, on Terra's ancient past. We are mankind. We do not grow through compliance, only adversity. You benefit in that, for there will seldom be a deadlier foe on the battlefield than I am."

"But you do not aim to kill."

"I do not go through with it, but I always aim to kill. That's the very first thing I told you: never strike as if you're fighting a comrade."

Seeing that the White Scar however was still in a foul mood, Kronos dismissed him for the day. The reason behind this was twofold: Gan needed to get away for some time, but also, as Batu had said, the Unbroken would need to develop a stronger bond as a squad. He would have to train with his brothers too.

"Curious strategy you employ, Custodian."

Kronos nodded the way of what had quickly become his second shadow these past several weeks.

Bodol was an excellent councilor, matching his Stormseer brother, but where he excelled most was in the management of the fleet. He could've made a fine admiral, if he had not been just as good at rousing the spirits of his brothers. And in the wake of all they had faced, their spirits needed all the rousing they could get.

"On Terra, far before any of your bloodlines were born, Chaplain, I was trained by Shield-Captain Damocles Cain. He was a brilliant man, a veteran of the Unification Wars the Emperor waged against the warlords that had taken the planet over in the darkness of Old Night. He would always, always challenge his disciples to one-on-one matches, encouraging us to knock him down."

"Did you manage it?" Bodol asked, sounding curious despite himself.

"Not once. But I would not be the warrior I am today if it were not for that. We always must look to something greater than ourselves. And well, I do not consider myself arrogant, but I am a better warrior at the very least."

"You think invalidating his efforts will only make him try harder, and get better?"

"With encouragement. Simply dragging one's face into the dirt I've found is only a tool for resentment to build up."

"I see."

Bodol motioned his hand, and very quickly a pack of servitors were upon him, disengaging his armor, stripping him down to his body glove. He placed his crozious down on the ground, before grabbing one of the nearby training blades, similar to Gan's own.

"Might you humor me a match?"

Kronos arched his brow curiously, though nodded. An electronic timer was nearby, and Kronos set it to go off in tens seconds, signalling the beginning of their match. The armor was removed quickly from the floor, as the cage closed around them. The timer started. Both warriors tensed.

Ten seconds were up in what felt like a heartbeat. Every Astartes in the training cages looked up from their own matches. The mortals looked up from their jobs. Both warriors charged at each-other, becoming a blur of motion no one could possibly hope to follow.

Thunderous blow after thunderous blow struck, weapons parrying and deflecting, but in a few tense moments it was all over. They had felt like hours to the enraptured audience. The Custodian again stood victorious.

"13.46 seconds," the Custodian mused, offering him a hand, which he grasped roughly. With unbelievable ease he was lifted to his feet. "You're quite good."

"You did not believe I got to this position by simply preaching did you? Last time I checked, I ranked in the top fifty in the Chapter."

"Why the challenge however?"

"Partly, I wished to test myself upon on you. But mostly," his eyes drifted to Gan, who despite seemingly having gone back to his own sparring match, occasionally spared glances to them. "He needs to see that he is not particularly weak. You must feed him nuggets of confidence if you wish to keep him on your good side."

Kronos looked at him for some time, before nodding, a small smile at his lips.

"Evidently, I'm less capable at your job than you are."

"Was that a joke Custodian?"

"I find myself in need of better jest in these dark days, yes."

Bodol nodded, knowingly. The pain the Custodian was going through could only be imagined, having been ripped from his life millennia ago and transported to the here and now, tasked with saving the Imperium in ways only the Emperor could conceive.

He made a point of never showing it, but the signs were still there, for someone observant enough. Certain phrasings, lamentations that were meant to come off as one note, though most certainly were not for any that knew better.

"Why train him?" Bodol asked.

"Pardon?"

"Why him specifically?"

"I thought you'd know by now."

"I know my men. But I cannot predict your thoughts Custodian."

Kronos seemed to think it over, before simply responding:

"I have my reasons."

Bodol wanted to continue, but he could see Kronos was not in the mood. There would be better times to discuss of such things.

"I believe we're done here."

The Chaplain nodded, and soon both of them were once more in full armor, heading towards the bridge of the ship.

"How goes the gathering of the fleet?"

"We've received three additional ships from sector command, though it'll be counterproductive if we commission anymore. Victoria is very close to the Eye of Terror and they require their fleet. The loss of Sors is already a terrible blow. As for additional reinforcements, it will be some time before we can rendezvous with them."

"Geller Fields?"

"Holding on all ships, on last check."

"Good. Our journey begins proper then."

They emerged on the bridge. None of the officers saluted them. Kronos had beat that habit out of them in the first week. Both of them inclined their head to the captain, one Alexis Diomede, a fiercely devoted woman that responded in kind. Fair of skin and lithe of frame, there was nonetheless something fierce in her crystal blue eyes and, while her white uniform and blonde topknot exuded authority. She already knew the course of action she needed to take.

"Thrusters at 70%. Take us to the Mandeville Point."

"Compliance," one of the servitors announced.

There was a shudder, as the colossus of a vessel engaged forwards. Subluminal engines fired with the heat to burn off a small world's atmosphere, as the speartip of Battelgroup Riptide slowly accelerated unto it's destination.

Soon enough they had left behind their last refueling world, on the way to leaving the sector entirely, now fully engaged in their journey. The ship slowed at a point, and the captain seemed to make note of something on the monitor screens.

"Status of Geller Field?" she asked an officer.

"Nominal. No breaches detected."

She nodded. With one last look around the room, she said with somewhat more force than was necessary:

"Engage Warp drive!"

A massive hole in reality appeared before the ship, enough to swallow it whole. There, in the fore, stood everything man did not know, nor was supposed to.

The Warp was turbulent in Segmentum Obscurus, particularly so in comparison to all other charted parts of the Imperium. The echoes of the Eye's birth bled into the eddies of the Empyrean, turning it into an even more tumultuous place to navigate. That added chaos reflected even within the relatively safe confines of the Geller Field.

Bodol could see something in the incomprehensible swirl of colors beyond the plexiglass of the bridge, but he did not linger on it. Damnation awaited him that way. Every last person on the ship knew as much.

The Custodian however, seemed entranced by what was in front of them. As if he could see something they could not.

"I can hear the screams."

It was soft, too soft for any but him to hear. But Bodol had heard it.

"Custodian?"

Kronos' eyes diverted from whatever he was observing, as his attention was returned to the bridge.

"Forgive me. These psychic senses, they take some time to get used to."

Bodol merely nodded, opting to not inquire about the glint in his eyes. He'd request the Stormseer see him later, privately.

A ping resounded in his helmet after a while, informing him the entire fleet was trailing behind them as intended.

"The Inquisitor follows us."

"That she does."

"She will be a nuisance."

"I do not believe I will have problems with disobedience."

"She is a mortal with the power to end planets Custodian. I would not put much faith in her ability to keep her ego in check."

"And what does that mean Chaplain?" Kronos was now facing him directly.

"Hand a baseline mortal an immense amount of power and they will likely abuse it. Hand them an immense amount of power, and a feeling of utter righteousness, and you have the most terrifying threat this galaxy can produce."

"No Inquisitor is "handed" their position Bodol. You know this. They go through trials and tribulations as mentally grueling as those of the Astartes are physically so, and very often much more than just that."

"What I said still stands," the Chaplain said, facing away. "I am only advising on keeping an eye on her."

"Of course I will," he squinted somewhat. "You truly do not have much faith in humanity, do you?"

"It has not given me much reason to be faithful truthfully, no."

"The Emperor sacrificed himself for humanity. That is reason enough."

The Chaplain wanted to protest, but he really could not retort, so instead he said nothing.

Preliminary calculations placed their travel time within the Warp at six weeks, and seeing as the operation had been completed, and the ship was now sailing across the Empyrean, both got ready to exit the bridge and return to their own daily duties.

A zart however, stopped Kronos' pathway, when they had already moved past each-other.

"Lord Kronos," the short man spoke in a thick accent. "Most venerated Stormseer Nergui requests your presence in hospital cell 4B."

Kronos recognized that number. It was...

He nodded and made his way over to the cell, his pace faster than he would've liked.

* * *

And much like the zart had said, the Stormseer was the first to greet him.

"Is she awake?" Kronos asked without, not intending to beat around the bush.

"Indeed. Quite surprisingly, she's made it. Hers is certainly a...strange case. And before you ask, I did not manage to find any whiff of the daemonic on her. After several weeks, I believe she is entirely safe, though the spiritual damage is...immense."

"What does that mean?"

"Her soul is..."cracked", is the best way I can describe it. Like a stone hit with a hammer and chisel. Not fragmented, for it were, she would not be here. But definitely damaged."

"Elaborate Stormseer. I'm not yet so versed in these matters to decipher this meaning. What will the consequences be?"

"In truth? I do not know. She may drop dead one day. She may live to her hundreds. Her soul may heal and repair, or it may degrade. It all depends upon her own actions following this, and fate. The deciphering of the psychic has never been, nor will ever be a precise science."

Kronos wanted something more concrete out of him, but realized the Stormseer was only speaking truth. Even in the past few weeks of exploring his new psychic prowess, he had never encountered something Warp-related that did not have attached complications to it. He nodded, and moved onto the room itself.

The person inside the room was a far cry from the one he'd met weeks ago. Emaciated from a liquid nutrient diet meant only to keep her alive, her hair a mess and a look in her eyes he couldn't quite place. Her stance had devolved considerably from the confident way she carried herself, and his enhanced senses did confirm the shift in her aura. A soul burnt, but not broken.

"Mira."

She jerked her head unnervingly to the voice, and her eyes widened. Her mouth hung open as if wanting to say something that she just could not convey.

"It is good to see you awake."

She just remained staring, and were it not for the dilation of her eyes and the occasional shiver of her body, she would've appeared catatonic.

Kronos himself didn't know how to approach such a situation. He was far from an expert on the human mind. He had been taught more than enough about it's unsavory parts, to know exactly what and who to guard and destroy, but in the fixing of a soul, he had no foreknowledge.

Each Custodian was an impenetrable bastion. They could stumble, they could hurt, but they could never fall. They had not been designed to be vulnerable. Kronos' survival through the Warp alone attested to that.

"Why?"

The voice was so quiet it was barely picked up even by his hearing. He looked a good long while at the child before him, waiting on her to elaborate.

"Why...why do you care?"

Kronos had had precious little time to think on that, though he had ended up spending some of the last few weeks at least reminiscing. It was a curious little thing, his bond with a human child that he'd barely even met, and he still couldn't figure out why it had happened.

Perhaps it was her personality, a refreshing bit of fiery humanity, complete with all it's flaws and headaches in stark contrast to his solemn, rigid brotherhood. Perhaps it was her being the only human element he had encountered after what felt like decades trapped in an endless nightmare of torture, and longing for death. Perhaps it was their shared pain as sole survivors beyond anything else, her of her own planet and him of his own time.

Whatever the case, it did not matter. He'd accepted a weird sort of responsibility at the time, and had followed it through to the best of his abilities. But the Emperor's mission always came first.

"Because I simply do."

Her expression remained hollow. In that state, it was immensely easy to see how young and frail she truly was.

"Sors is gone I'm afraid," Kronos continued. He did not wish to be the one to impart the news, but it was better to rip the bandage off before the infection of hope could take hold. "And I am sorry. But nothing more could be done. You are welcome to stay here however. I am certain the White Scars will offer the same respect as I do to one who was fought alongside them. Perhaps you can even make a life he-"

"No."

A single syllable, uttered with such a tiny voice, yet so immensely powerful. Kronos was caught off guard for a moment as he observed her expression, which was unreadable, even to him.

"Pardon?"

"I won't stay here. And I won't bother you either," she finally looked him in the eyes, and there was something sparking behind them. "I'll only ask for the favor you owe me: drop me at the nearest planet."

"Why?"

"Because, I'll make it back to you. And be actually useful this time."

"Mira your contribution, however small, was invaluab-"

The child once more surprised him by grabbing a nearby needle and shoving it into her forearm. Kronos was momentarily dazed, completely forgetting to even stop her. The child carved something into her wrist, a symbol he did not recognize, and despite her clearly pained expression, she did not stop until the work was done, an inhuman determination fueling her beyond mortal nerve endings.

When she was, her forearm was leaking blood, even though on second the carving was not as deep as it first appeared. Her face was now visibly contorted, whether because of rage or pain or both, he could not tel. But when she next spoke, it was with none of the weakness of before.

"I swear I'll never, **never **stop making them pay. But I need to do on my own. Please, just drop me off somewhere. And I promise you, on my blood, that we will meet again."

The Custodian gave a quick once-over to the child, who was now staring expectantly at him. He probed her mind with his own just to see what exactly she was thinking. Instead of plans, coherent thoughts, feelings, Kronos encountered a singular thing: a burning desire, nay, a need, for revenge. White-hot vengeance flowed from her frame like lava down a volcano, consuming everything else.

He could've protested. He could've made an argument on how young she was, how inexperienced and how frail she was. But she had survived a planet dying several times over, and came out on top from wrestling with the influence of one of the most corrupt and powerful beings in the galaxy.

There was nothing more that life could throw at her that she could not conquer in her mind, and Kronos believed to an extent too. So, rather hesitantly, he nodded.

They stood in silence for some time until Mira spoke again:

"Can I start walking around now?"

"You will have to consult the medicae on that."

Kronos moved, making for the door, though turning his head one last time.

"If you need anything, merely ask. If you need to see me, I will make myself available as soon as possible. Be well."

"I will...Kronos."

* * *

The_ Crescent Moon_ engaged the nearby strike cruiser with it's vox array, hailing the ship designating itself as the _Ferrum Mortem_.

A pict-feed broadcast eventually was received. The assembled on the bridge turned their eyes to a giant of silver and green ceramite, orange optic lenses staring at them all.

"3rd Company Captain Octavian, Master of the Arsenal of the Doom Legion Chapter," Kronos stated with regality, as one monarch speaking to another. "It is good that you are here."

"The Doom Legion heed Terra's call, Custodian. If one of the Emperor's own requests our assistance, then we'll be damn sure to give it."

The captain's voice was like booming thunder, amplified by his vox-speakers, though it was less an aristocrat's deep bass like Kronos, and more the energetic flair of a drill sergeant.

"That is good to hear Octavian. I hope we can commune some more when the time is right, but at this moment I am busy with other elements of the assembling fleet. Chaplain Bodol can in the meantime discuss with you your position therein. His rank may not betray it, but I entrust him with all the matters of our nascent force."

"By your word Custodian."

Kronos took his leave from the room, engaging his vox-comm, and moving onto another pending issue. Each day, the mountain of work grew more mountainous. He was thankful he did not have to bear the whole brunt of the operation, for he doubted even his superhuman mind could keep up with the logistic and paperwork of an entire fleet being commissioned.

On that note, after several received mundane calls, one popped in his helm with was designated _alpha prioris._

"Custodian."

"Inquisitor," he acknowledged.

"I am currently being blasted by no less than four of my colleagues for my decision making. They are furious over me supposedly abusing my authority."

"Truly?" Kronos raised an eyebrow.

"I think they are currently contemplating burning me alive, so yes."

Kronos ignored the sarcasm and once more reflected on the sheer legendary paranoia of the Inquisition. It was only befitting of their job, but he could not keep from lamenting on how far the Imperium had fallen. Humanity always needed watchdogs to keep those who thought they could do whatever they wished in check, from the very dawn of time. It was only regrettable that they too had fallen so low.

"I am coming aboard your ship."

"What?"

"I will convince them myself, personally if I have to."

"And if they refuse to listen?"

"They **will **listen, one way or another. Kronos out."

He disengaged his physical means of communication, and instead moved to those metaphysical, projecting a small pulse of his conscience into the ship. Across it, he heard a responding pulse that confirmed what he needed to hear.

Several minutes later, on the teleportation bay, the Stormsteer was there to meet him.

"More bureaucracy?"

Kronos nodded, and for the first time he saw Nergui releasing a deep, long sigh.

"I trust from all our experiences you are not too keen on it?"

"Human politics is the one battlefield I would never follow my Khan nor you into, Custodian."

"Quite a shame, given that you are a talented diplomat," he said, smirking slightly underneath his helmet.

"I am no Inquisitorial dog like Batu, that is for certain however," Nergui retorted, the soft cackle he was having not needing to be voiced for them both to hear it.

"Well, I nonetheless require a keen mind beside me. Let us just get this done with."

In a flash of light they were gone.

* * *

She took a whiff of the air, heavy, humid and ripe with pollution.

It was not home. But then again, no place felt like it'd be.

Ultio used to be a world of lush, continent spanning forests that was taken over and industrialized, like many worlds, to fuel the Imperial war machine. It's vibrant ecosystem was butchered, reduced to scant few percentages of the world's surface area as the population, both of people and manufactorums, ballooned. It was not a hive world, though projections put it very close to achieving such a status in a few thousand years.

It had a population in the billions. None of which had seen what she had seen. None of which had gone through what she had gone through.

"This is where you go away."

A massive hand was placed upon her shoulder, easily bigger than her head.

"Will you be alright? You must understand, this is quite strange arrangement, leaving you here with just your lasgun."

"I will be fine. I made a promise, remember?" she said, pointing at her forearm, where the scar had not disappeared. "We will meet again, and when we do, I promise I'll be useful."

"Mira..."

"I will never...never fucking be helpless again..."

"Vengeance is a powerful well to drink from, but be careful it does not poison you."

"You said my soul's in pieces. What will a little poison do?"

The fingers by her side squeezed just the tiniest bit, but otherwise remained the same. She saw the city in front of her, gray and layered with all too predictable human suffering. But no Hell could compare anymore to the actual fire-and-brimstone touch of Chaos she'd endured.

"If I may," a voice jutted in, and both turned their head to see the pilot of the Thunderhawk that had landed them disengage. His new metallic hand, shining in the sunlight marked him, as did the red scar painted onto his helm.

Gan approached the child with something in hand. He knelt, yet still stood taller than her.

In his hand was a primitive necklace made out of the teeth of some predator, on a far off world. It was not an artisan's work, though it was clearly made by a caring hand.

"My mother crafted this for me many moons ago. It is a symbol of warrior, transitioning from child to adult. Traditionally, such memorabilia are made specifically for those who have achieved the assorted deed that allows them to proceed to their most productive and honorable life. But, craftsmanship is not my art."

"You have an art?" she asked slyly, as she accepted the necklace.

"Many, in fact. Perhaps I'll show you, one day."

"Perhaps we'll meet again?"

"Indeed."

She put it on and for a fleeting moment Gan was reminded of a life he had long since had erased from him. A simpler life, yet seeming more difficult at the time than he could imagine, due to being so frail and weak. The receiving of the necklace was the first part in ending that meekness, and so he hoped it would do the same for the girl in front of him.

"It's beautiful. Thank you."

Without much word, both warriors departed. All that had needed to be said had been said in the intervening weeks. So they took to the stars, to wrangle their fates, and she departed for the city, to wrestle hers.

* * *

**Author's notes: **So...let me tell you a little something about this fic. All the way back in 2019, when the world wasn't yet on fire, I was just starting to find my feet with this fic, and decided for whatever reason that it needed a snarky child in it.

Maybe it was to offset Kronos' rigidity? Who knows. But regardless, I've found it harder and harder to write for her in this increasingly more serious take, at least by my own perspective. So this is my way of sort of...well, "getting rid" of her is a bad word, just saving her for something bigger later down the line.

I am not immensely proud of this chapter. It's mostly meaningless fluff to edge some stuff forwards and introduce someone new while sending away someone old. That being said, I still hope you've enjoyed it, and as always, reviews and faves are fantastic to behold. Back when I first started this I could not fathom 14 reviews for a single chapter.

Ahem, anyway, that has been all from me, see you next time, Dome of Bones out.


	22. Spearhead

Check the bottom of the chapter for notes.

* * *

Months of travel went by in a breeze, the tides of the Immaterium bending to the will of the fleet, expanding ever outwards as it made for it's destination. They had left behind the Warp-tainted maw of Obscurus by now, penetrating deep into the xenos-infested colossus that was Ultima.

Kronos had seen tens of worlds during their voyage, either stops for refueling or minor scuffles with enemy forces that needed to be apprehended. The people of the Imperium who needed help received it, as long as they were in their path, by the crushing blow of a relatively massive fleet, in the past few months grown to a size where it could comfortably patrol several sectors.

In the stars, words had spread of the mighty battlefleet. The Scions of Terra was the name spoken of them in hushed whispers across all the galactic fronts, relayed from spies and assassins to governors and powerful Administratum lords. They came from all corners of the realm of Man, from all the assorted branches of martial might the Emperor's forces mustered.

Yet their name was spawned of one singular aspect, the one that unified them: the fleet was apparently in control of one of the Adeptus Custodes, the Emperor's own Golden Legion, and the heir apparent to the Imperial Throne. These rumors were the ones that burned the brightest, spreading across the astropathic grapevine to anyone important enough to know.

He was certain his modern counterparts already knew of it. He did not know what to expect of them, but nothing he'd seen had had their stamp on it yet. Already dozens of spies had been apprehended, many by himself. There were few things that could fool the Ordo Hereticus Inquisitor he had by his side, and fewer still that could fool him. Counterespionage was as important to a Custodian's duties as being a truly mighty physical protector was.

In truth however, even his enhanced mind was feeling the stress by now. Relegation did wonders, and he had some very talented men and women assisting him, truly, but every piece of information regarding the fleet and all that would happen to it passed through him. Every iota of data that could be gathered, was gathered.

It was demanding to the extreme, and would've been utterly impossible even for most regular Custodians, made practical only by his brain's immensely boosted processing speed and storage capacity.

It was in these few, quiet moments however, that he found the most difficulty. He took them periodically, even though he didn't need rest in the conventional sense. But his brain did operate at better efficiency when he imposed some moderation, so he would plug out of the information database once in a while to simply stand meditating in peace.

Except, he couldn't have peace. When he wasn't busy, that was when his mind tormented him the most. He tried to shut out thoughts of doubt, of hatred for all that had happened. But he could not.

No amount of getting used to this new reality was going to absolve these feelings. He knew full well that he could not have done anything to change it. That by being here, now, he was getting an actual chance, and a prestigious honor above almost all others, to make things right. But his mind could not help but wander to the possibilities, to all the ifs, and maybes, and buts.

Inevitably however, he received another message that required his attention. Duties were never sparse aboard the _Crescent Moon_. With a sigh, he filed all thoughts of the past to back of his mind, as the present called to him.

* * *

"Cadia is falling."

Three words were all it took to silence the entire command deck of the ship, which had been filled to the brim with officers. Admirals, captains, representatives of the Adeptus Ministorum and the Mechanicus, even the all-powerful Inquisition with Catherine at the front of the contingent. They all stood speechless at the words, as if they could not process the concept at all.

Some wore scowls of pure hatred on their faces, the Great Enemy and thoughts of slaughter against it clearly bubbling in their minds. Others stood gawking, perhaps even with their mouths open, the information utterly baffling them. Most had looks of worry or grim determination on their faces. Kronos had the impression they were the most fearful.

This veneer of calm stood for what felt like hours, though in truth were a mere few minutes at most. Even the breathing of the assembled became fleeting and hushed. And then it was as if the room exploded, as a hundred voices cried out in all the myriad of emotions such news would bring.

The chaos continued for some time, as cries of disbelief could've echoed throughout the entirety of the _Crescent Moon_ were they allowed to. However, a single voice of booming thunder sounded above all others:

**_SILENCE!_**

Instantly, the entire room was thrown into a trance even worse than the first time they had heard the accursed sentence. The scream had not been merely a thing of sound waves, amplified by vox emitters, though few in the assembled could tell of that. It had been a soul shriek as well, carving it's pathway into the Warp and clenching their souls into submission just as the noise of the Materium voice had done so to their minds.

And only then, after the verbal cacophony had ceased did they realize who had let out the command.

None of the assembled had ever heard the Custodian raise his voice. Many doubted he was even capable of it, exuding an aura of calm and control in almost any situation, and rarely showing his stress at any time. But now they saw, and stood silent.

Kronos walked, taking a spot in the center of the room. All awaited as he formulated his next words. The Custodian removed his helm, to address his audience directly. His face bore little resemblance to depictions of his gene sire, though it carried it's own aristocracy, if a simple one at that. Handsome, but not particularly so. A royal, yet never a monarch.

"This changes nothing."

If the first sentence had cause uproar, the second could've started a planetary bombing. Yet Kronos' heavy stare made all tongues that would be leveled against him feel like lead.

"Our goal is Ultramar. Whether the Cadian Gate falls or is saved miraculously, our goals do not shift. We do no good to our allies if we backtrack on our journey now, but only harm ourselves, and the future of the Imperium. We have made it this far. It may pain us, but we cannot heed Cadia's call."

"But my lord!" one of the gathered at last had the courage to speak, and Kronos recognized him as the representative Noble Lord of the Imperial Knights House Cadmus, Vorroid Harker. "If Cadia falls, then the Eye-"

"We do not know what will happen to the Eye. What we do know is that devastation is the only thing that awaits us there. Think, Knight, and consider: the fabled _Phalanx _itself is present and fighting tooth and nail in the skies above Cadia. Do you think we could make a splash in such a conflict with our fleet? Halt the momentum of the crashing titans there with this mere gathering of Imperial force?"

The Knight fell silent, his cheeks burning with embarrassment, as his rebellion was silenced in his throat.

"I understand your desire to strike at the heart of the enemy. Rip it's throat open while it is busy circling it's prey. But our destinies do not lay there," he impacted the pole of his spear to the ground once for emphasis, as he looked onto every soul in the room. "You surrendered your lives to the Emperor the moment you signed into the duties you now hold. But never were you commissioned by the Master of Mankind himself. Until now."

"Though I do it with no great pleasure, I am his proxy, and your life debt to him is your life debt to me. And for the greater good of the Imperium, we make for Ultramar. That is final."

With that, the Custodian stared expectantly at the crowd. None could quite figure out what he waited for. Until one of them gave the sign of the Aquila. The very same Knight he had rebutted before.

Soon, all others in the room, whether begrudgingly or with admiration, confirmed their loyalties. Kronos nodded twice, one for the assembled officers to disperse, and the other towards the Inquisitorial group that was waiting, sulking in the shadows, the only ones not to take part in the commotion.

Four figures stepped forth from the relatively smaller group, Catherine among them. Kronos offered his hand to the Inquisitor to help her up the step to the center of the deck, more a symbolic gesture than anything else. In the past several months, he'd grown to have a decent working relationship with her, if only because her position secured him the compliance of other Inquisitors without the use of threats being necessary.

The religious fervor still unnerved him, sending cold shivers up his spine for every prayer and blessing in the supposed God-Emperor's name. Like most things, he ignored it so long as it was convenient. But it was one of the reasons why he preferred the companionship of the White Scars. They were not zealots. They were a far cry from the enlightened Legions of old, from the ways of the Imperial Truth, but they were nonetheless palpable in this new dark age.

The Inquisitor accepted the gesture with a polite bow. One could've almost confused them for a royal couple in courtship, if not for the massive difference in height and the clear display of battleplate and weaponry they had on. The rest of Kronos' retinue, that being Gan, Batu and Bodol, followed them, as did the other Inquisitors, as they delved deeper into the bowels of the ship.

The room they were going to was a recent addition, implemented in the last several weeks. There was no glory nor much of anything in it, just a space barely large enough to house all of them. Cramped, humid and reeking of engine oil and recycled air, one would never think that some of the most powerful individuals in the Imperium came here to discuss matters too important for any other living soul to hear.

It was purely utilitarian, but it served it's purpose very well. Not even a decibel of sound would escape the soundproofed confines of the room. They could summon a daemon kicking and screaming from the Immaterium and none on the ship would notice a thing. If the _Crescent Moon _was blasted straight through, the chamber would most likely survive as it's own unit. A fortress within a fortress.

They at last arrived at the unofficial brains behind the entire operation, and their journey to Ultramar. They were sans one, but Kronos kept tabs on him anyway. It was impossible not to with how overwhelmingly large his presence was in the ship. And he was already speaking in a tongue only those who could see the realm beyond lives could speak.

"The Warmaster of Chaos prepares his endgame," Catherine spoke.

"That he does. But I need that endgame explained to me in detail Inquisitor. You mentioned something about the Cadian Pylons. I require more information about them."

Catherine nodded, and motioned one of her peers to step forth. Old, scared in every bit of visible flesh, almost frail and weak-looking if not for his sharp, obsidian eyes, the man looked to be pushing his 80s, yet was truly in his 200s to 300s, a point where rejuvenat treatments simply ceased to work.

"Inquisitor Lord Kryptus Tallarn of the Ordo Xenos," Catherine introduced, though Kronos already knew who he was. There was a not a single person of note aboard his ship that he had not memorized and scrutinized.

The elderly man cleared his throat, and spoke with a voice laden with exhaustion and grit, a mark more telling of his advanced age and long career than his physical appearance:

"The Cadian Pylons, lord, are perhaps the greatest and most important defense against the expansion of the Warp and the Warmaster's plan in the galaxy. They are of alien origin, suspected to be of Necron construction, and though their structure is ill-understood, they are able to hold back the influence of the Immaterium. They are responsible for the existence of the Cadian Gate," the man's arm was raised, revealing it for the cybernetic implant that it was, and a hololith of the systems near the Fortress World were displayed.

"For thousands of years now, the Despoiler has launched crusade after crusade into our territories, seemingly with no reason, and being beaten each time. Now, the purpose of his assaults has been made clear: he's been picking apart the Pylon network around the Eye. Each time, the Warp rift has swelled in size, if by relatively tiny margins, only stopped from truly ballooning due to one thing..."

"Cadia itself," Kronos finished. "He has played the Imperium for thousands of years, making us believe he is weak and a fool. The fall of Cadia has always been his endgame."

"This bodes worse and worse the more I hear about it," Gan mused.

"What of the findings in the Empyrean?" Kronos asked. "I wish to corroborate the Stormseer's and mine own observations."

The Inquisitor Lord bowed, and another, much different face took his place. Where the other man was a worn out blade, this one was sharpened steel, fresh out of the forge. Burning hot plasma in comparison to the Inquisitor Lord's weathered iron, his eyes fiery zeal in contrast to grim determination of the one now behind him.

He was clearly young, exceedingly so for an Inquisitor, though his seeming early promotion spoke volumes of how much he had to have impressed whoever he had been trained by. Not that it told Kronos much. Even in the elite Inquisition, levels of competence varied, and what did not help was that the Custodian could not help but smell his surface thoughts.

He felt disgust. He was one of the zealots. The true zealots.

But he did not show it. He was certain his dissatisfaction would have time to manifest itself one day. But not now. There was still work to be done.

"Inquisitor Adrian Drago, of the Ordo Malleus," Kronos chanted in his head, in perfect sync with Catherine saying the words.

"My lord," the man began, his voice gruff, yet still displaying his age. "I will be frank with you: the predictions have not been in our favor. Hundreds of sanctioned psykers, along with several Librarians and Grey Knights I have collaborated with throughout the Imperium...they all report dire readings of the Emperor's Tarot, among other such very unfortunate signs. Whatever is coming, I fear the line between extinction and salvation will be...very thin to tread."

"So it is true," Bodol chimed in. "Brother Nergui tells us much of the same. He finds the Empyrean disturbed. Changed. The roiling tides are agitated."

"Indeed. I've seen it myself," Kronos turned around from the others, his hands behind his back, grasping each-other, tightening and loosening as he thought. "I am no expert yet in the happenings of the realm of souls. Yet all this couldn't be any clearer. It only makes our mission all the more important. The breaking of the new millennium will be a violent one. Perhaps too violent for us all to survive without our mission completed."

"And what is that mission, pray tell, lord Kronos?"

And there it was. The fool. The rebel. The one Inquisitor he had only kept around for he served as a foil to the others. In truth, one could not help but be annoyed of the man, if they were not utterly terrified of him. Whereas the rampant paranoia of his organization was downplayed immensely by the presence of one of the Emperor's own sons carrying his blessing, the Ordo Hereticus Inquisitor before him was not touched at all by the sentiment.

"Theseus..." Catherine warned.

"It has been months, Custodian. Months of travel, of warring, of fighting off the bureaucratic nightmare of the organizations needed to be brought together for your adventure to begin."

"Bite your tongue boy," Kryptus hissed, though the other Inquisitor payed him no mind.

"How much longer will you keep things from us? How much more must we prove our devotion to this cause before you tell us what the cause is Custodian? We are Inquisitors, and we demand our res-"

With blinding speed, Gan's artificial limb was grasping the intricate robe of the Inquisitor, stopping his tirade at once, lifting him up into the air like a ragdoll.

"Gan..." Batu warned without further words.

"Calm yourself brother," Bodol chimed in, placing a hand on the younger warrior's shoulder.

Kronos himself remained detached.

"How dare you, maggot?" Gan spat. "He is a son of the Emperor, born of him as each Astartes is born of his Primarch. He has seen the Master of Mankind in the flesh and carries a fragment of his own soul within him. He could have each of you killed right now and no one would bat an eye. You will not receive any respect. All that is needed of you is your compliance in doing what must be done. Beyond that, you are no less disposable than any other man."

"Gan," the voice echoed throughout the room, even though it should've been impossible. "Put him down."

Begrudgingly, the Astartes complied, and the Inquisitor was put down on the ground, shocked speechless despite himself. Burner of worlds or not, few men could be threatened by a Space Marine with no fear invading their system.

"Your concerns are valid Theseus, even if your methods of displaying them are not in the slightest," Kronos began, turning around to face them once more. "I have kept my plans from you for too long."

He turned to the White Scars now.

"And a distinction in that doesn't exist between my associates, and closest allies. It is time I reveal what I saw all those months back when the Stormseer guided me," Kronos' eyes flashed once, and each person in the room was shown the exact same destiny he had witnessed.

Terra. Broken. Chaos. Star. Ultima. Aquila.

The vision ended in a split second, but White Scar and Inquisitor alike found the image burned into their skulls. Each one of them dazed, some suffered more than others. Batu took off his helm to spit acidic bile onto the floor. The old Inquisitor Lord found his nostrils full of blood, starting an intense coughing fit.

Catherine nearly keeled over, but she was caught quickly by his outstretched hand. On closer inspection, she was bleeding lightly on one ear.

"Are you alright?"

Once she regained full awareness, surface thought observation told him that she was somewhere between terrified and elated to touch his armor again, though she shook it off soon enough.

"I'm fine."

He let her go, though did notice how she was still clutching her head.

"My sincerest apologies, I did not mean to cause such an effect. My psychic powers still do not come naturally to me. The fragment I am now merged with seems to possess all of my sire's immense psychic might with none of his experience," he cleared his throat. "But nonetheless, I trust all of you observed what I intended to show."

He turned around now, observing something in the dull metal walls no one else could see.

"We journey to Ultramar for there is the only known location of one of the Imperium's own leading generals and leaders: the Primarch Roboute Guilliman, Master of Utramar, the Avenging Son."

"Guilliman has been in stasis for millennia lord, stuck between life and death due to a wound the fallen Daemon Primarch Fulgrim gave him. Even his superhuman regeneration has been negated by it's vile poisons, not of this reality. I've seen it myself," Batu said.

"This is true. And I myself possess no means to resurrect him. But believe me when I say, his resurrection is coming. Destiny deems it so. And though I have never been much a believer in regards to such things, I saw what you all say with mine own eyes."

"The Imperium needs a savior in these dire times. A warrior but most of all, a leader. Something I could never be. I may have the soul of the Emperor himself within me, but what good would that claim do? How many would declare me a false, deluded prophet? And even if my word was accepted as law by everyone in this disjointed empire, I am no statesman. I am not a diplomat, nor do I know how to manage the byzantine nightmare that is the Imperial bureaucratic machine."

He once more faced them, this time the conviction in his voice seemingly shaking the walls of the room itself.

"But a Primarch? None can refute the word of one. Any stupid enough to try and doubt a loyal son of the Emperor would be slain where they stood. And Guilliman is the most equipped man to handle the nightmarish path that awaits us all. His resurrection and safe journey to Terra is of the upmost importance. That is why we make our mark on Macragge."

All assembled stood in complete silence after the speech. Even Theseus could say nothing to rebut him. They were all encompassed in lesser or greater extents of awe, either listening to the Custodian's words, or more likely, trying to grapple with the concept of a true, living Primarch walking among them again.

Kronos did not wait for them to respond. He'd have time to speak with all of them sooner or later. Rather, he motioned for his appointed equerry, Gan, and bid farewell to the rest.

"Is it true, Custodian?" Gan asked after a while of them simply walking.

"I would not have said it if it was not, Gan."

They continued walking some more in silence, though Kronos could tell the other's silence was not a comfortable one.

"Something troubles you."

"I do no-"

"Gan, I did not select you because of your shyness. Speak your mind as you always have."

"I am not a psyker myself Custodian, but from what I have heard from Stormseers, including Nergui himself, visions are incredibly subjective, are they not? I am not trying to place undue doubt in you, but well...who is to say this is not the best case scenario? From what we all saw, who is to say Guilliman is truly to come back?"

"Call it intuition."

"With all due respect Custodian, that does not answer anything."

Kronos stopped, drawing a deep breath, before turning around and facing his equerry, face neutral.

"You are correct. However, the way I know this vision is indeed about Guilliman, or at least one of the Primarchs, is something the soul fragment of the Emperor himself told me all those months back on Sors. Do you wish to know what that is?"

Gan nodded, perhaps a bit too quickly for it to be comfortable.

"It said: "Let this be the last time you show deference to another individual not of your own destiny". I do not wish to come off as brash or arrogant, but who else sans the Primarchs, can have the destiny of one who would carry the soul of the Emperor within him? That sentence has burned itself within my skull since then, like the rest of his speech. I've repeated it over and over, and analysis leads me to believe nothing else. That vision only confirmed it."

"...I see," was Gan's clipped reply. His helm hid his facial features, though the Custodian could tell his conflicted mood. He did not blame him. Kronos would've done the same once.

He'd come around eventually.

* * *

"Stormseer."

The shorter warrior nodded in his direction.

"Custodian."

They both stood alongside one-another as they stared out into the void of space, at the assembled which now looked to be quite formidable.

Below them, the massive Mining World of Balor stood, their last stop before an interrupted journey towards Macragge. Possessing of a massive Imperial Guard contingent, some of which had been drawn for their own crusade, and under the intense scrutiny of the Inquisition, making acquisition of assets immensely easy, it stood as an example of Imperial might.

Might they would soon need all of.

"We are close now."

"Indeed. Though it is regrettable that my Khan cannot join us before we reach our destination."

"He will have plenty of time to do so after our job is done, and we make for Terra."

A pause followed.

"Disaster awaits us," the Stormseer sounded concerned, a trait most unusual after all the time they'd spent together. "Something will happen during the months that we are traveling in the Warp. I can feel it."

"We will have to take that chance," Kronos interjected without missing a beat. "Whether salvation or damnation awaits us at the end of this journey, we fight on and endure all the same."

"Year 999 of the 41st millennium," Nergui mused. "All that has happened...all that is happening...it feels like a dream."

"Welcome to my reality," the Custodian said grimly.

They stood in silence for some time, until their presence was requested for the _Crescent Moon's_ reactivation and subsequent Warp jump.

* * *

**Author's notes: **Fun fact: Balor is an actual planet in 40k lore. I didn't come up with it. Not much to it, but I thought it was cool to throw that in.

Not much to say about this chapter. I think everyone can see where stuff is going to go from now. I will say though that next chapter, things ramp us significantly...hopefully.

As always, faves, follows and reviews are always appreciated. This has been all from me this time. Dome of Bones out.


	23. Battle on the Barge

Check the bottom of the chapter for notes.

* * *

_War._

_Before his eyes, war incarnate raged, a million billion colors he could not even grasp wrestling and tearing and snuffing each-other out. He'd seen the Great Ocean disturbed before._

_But never this._

**What do I look upon now, Stormseer? What sacrilege defiles our eyes at this moment?**

_The image of his fellow warrior appeared near him, but in the blazing inferno of chaos around them, even the proximity of his soul did not prevent his manifestation from being blurred, almost dreamlike._

**_This before us Custodian is...the gates of Hell opening themselves. _**

_The answer may have been vague, but looking at the state of the Immaterium before him, Kronos could not help but agree._

* * *

Macragge was perhaps a good metaphor for the state of the Imperium at large.

A once proud, mighty bulwark of humanity's future and enlightenment, now corroded, bastardized and on literal fire. It would've almost made Kronos laugh were it not for the dire situation.

"We've lost ten ships during the transit jump," one of the bridge officers piped up.

"How can that be? What are we, a clandestine operation?" one of the Doom Legion Veteran Sergeants on deck barked. The officer's head practically sunk to the floor in shame.

"Calm, cousin," Gan chimed in. "The Warp is a fickle mistress at the best of times, let alone when the galaxy is set ablaze with psychic energy, as the light of the Astronomican falters. This is a best case scenario, if anything."

They stood on the deck of the _Ferrum Mortem. _The _Crescent Moon _had sustained heavy damage in their transition to the system, courtesy of the amassed Chaos fleet that now plagued the entirety of space around Ultramar's capital.

The White Scar vessel was mostly evacuated, stowed away on a distant, hidden side of the system to undergo repairs under the supervision of mostly servitors and a skeleton crew of humans, along with the lone Space Marine left onboard, the Techmarine Chuulonbold. It was not the only ship they'd nearly lost in dealing with the initial blockade of traitor vessels.

"We are coming upon the second defensive wave," the acting Captain of the Doom Legion said, looking at the incoming wall of iron with burning contempt. Seeing their primogenitors in such plight, Kronos could tell that their blood was boiling. It would do no good for the coming battle, but he doubted he could get them to calm down in this situation.

The Captain suddenly moved, while the rest of his Command Squad followed. The Custodian put an arm on his pauldron, and in that instant knew his plan. Reckless, inefficient, potentially disastrous.

But he also recognized their need to do something to help their forefathers, as well as break the blockade as a spearhead. So as the other man turned his head, he merely nodded, before letting him go.

"And where are they off to?" Gan inquired.

"The Doom Legion will partake in a boarding action in order to eliminate the battle barge in front of us."

"I am no tactician but that seems considerably dangerous. How many is he taking with him?"

"The entire Company."

Gan arched an eyebrow, but seemed to judge against saying anything more critical. The situation pressed him to.

"Let us hope they are successful then. And we with them."

Kronos could only nod as he saw the first few flickers of light across the hulls of the enemy, and felt the thunderous impact of their own guns firing. The battle had begun.

* * *

Since the advent of space travel on Old Earth millennia ago, mankind had envisioned war across the void.

Mighty battlefleets of a thousand forms and shapes then had enraptured the minds of countless people. They had thought it to be glorious, thunderous and oh so magnificent, possessing of the brunt, the power and the impact of navies battling on the sea, but a thousand times more powerful and profound, along with being utterly unshackled from the restraints of gravity.

They could not be further from the truth.

There no booming sounds of gargantuan cannons, albeit they could easily be created were an atmosphere a factor existent in the mighty battlefield of the stars. They were rarely any dogged, close quarters fights, as weapons fired from millions of kilometers away. They were barely any great eruptions into flame, as compromised ships more often than not drifted out into the cold of space as hulking wrecks that would stain the stars for as long as they themselves burned bright, if the physical forces exerted on them allowed it.

Yet there was morbid beauty in it still. Great lances of blinding hot fire and wrath raced across the vast black nothingness. Rounds the size of buildings pounded across shimmering energy barriers at subluminal speeds. Rockets that could flatten whole mountain ranges and scour continents clean of life exploded in spectacular fashion on ironclad hulls.

It would've all seemed surreal to an outside observer. Watching brief blips on the bodies of vessels, signifying the firing of their weapons, before waiting minutes on end for the inevitable impact on the opposing side, and vice-versa. And in that, entirely without sound.

But Kronos had not the time to contemplate longer on such a matter, as he felt the ship rock around him once more.

"How many boarders?" he asked in a private vox-channel.

"Seven successful so far, squad size estimated between five and ten per," came the clipped reply from Batu.

They needed not exchange anymore words. They were terribly outnumbered in the department of Marines, and the traitors were conducting their boarding actions perfectly.

But with him there, it would do not good. Not one, not ten, not a million of them at once would fell him.

In truth, they had all been itching for a fight in the past several months. It was just in their nature. Augmented soldiers instilled with a sense of righteousness. Even Kronos had felt it.

Now he clutched his spear with purpose as they moved towards the site of the breach. The fragment of the Emperor had never told him of it's nature, not even it's name, only that of the armor he now possessed. But in the following months to his merger, two words burned itself into his mind each time he picked it up: Manifest Destiny.

Whether it was the actual name of the weapon or an ideal left past from it's forging, like the ghost of intent, he did not care. That was the name he used for it now, and it would be the name traitors would soon dread.

They emerged at last in the breached segment of the ship, which he was informed was mostly a series of maintenance tunnels. The area was dimly lit in the red glow of emergency lighting, and the thick smoke and vapor from the crashed assault ram cloaked much in the unknown.

To a mortal, or even an Astartes, this impairment of the visual senses could've been deadly. To him, it barely even registered. He could feel the stink of the Warp in the air, smell the taint emanating from wherever the traitors lay. In wordless vox clicks, he informed his entourage of all the presences he could discern, before taking one on himself, the largest contingent by far.

They were five of them in all, hidden behind rubble, walls, anything they could find which would fit their bulbous frames. A whiff of their signature, and he could tell from whom they came. Night Lords.

Another, and he could skim their surface thoughts. They were all vile, ugly little things, so pathetically single-minded in their contempt. He was overcome by disgust, and again without a word, gave the signal for attack.

All around him, muzzle flares lit up the darkened tunnels as Bolters barked, streaks of blue hot fire from Plasma Guns broke through the red, yet none of the traitors in his sights had time to react to them.

Without waiting a microsecond, Kronos rushed through one of the damaged walls, breaking through the material with no more difficulty than tearing wet paper, as he swung his spear and the first of the traitors was down, his head thrown clean off. He twisted his body, one arm bursting through a pile of rubble, while the other swung his spear.

Both hits connected, his arm meeting the brief resistance of ceramite before crushing a traitor helm as a squelching sound was heard, while his spear bisected the other, along with the Heavy Bolter he was carrying, causing the ammo to go off in explosion of fire and shrapnel.

Two remained now, as he settled from the motion which had barely taken a second, if even that. They at least popped out of cover to fire their weapons, though it would them no good, as with unnatural swiftness he was already upon them, slicing one in half vertically, and without missing beat, smashing the other with the butt of his spear in the head.

The last traitor fell to the ground, his helmet nearly crushed outright from the sheer force of the impact. Kronos executed him without missing a beat, splitting his head in two with his blade.

In the time it took the human heart to beat once, he had already ended five of one of the most dangerous breeds of warriors in the galaxy. And he was not even close to done.

He messaged his peers, not awaiting a response, as he progressed further into the ship. There was still much to be cleansed, much blood to be spilled. And it would take his mind off, however briefly, from the terror that still raged on elsewhere.

* * *

Captain Octavian was a man of action and instincts above all else. When a situation presented itself, he would act swiftly and without any hesitation, perhaps in direct contrast to a typical son of Guilliman.

Some questioned how he was even of such high stature inside his own Chapter. He wondered that himself regularly, not being very fond of doctrines and the like, though he did still read and regularly use the Codex Astartes.

His hot blood however made him anything but stupid, but in fact dangerously unpredictable like few of his peers could be. And so it was that when he saw that battle barge attacking the heart of the star empire of Ultramar, his skin boiled with anger and his hands itched for a fight.

And as the Caestus Assault Ram crashed through into the bowels of the enemy ship, he found it.

"Kill every last of the bastards!" he roared, his vox-grill amplifying his voice to booming thunder. _Torment _and _Defiance_, his Power Swords cackled with energy as he tore through the initial wave of the enemy. His Command Squad was a well-oiled machine, nigh-unstoppable once in motion and especially so against unprepared foes.

All across the ship he received word of his brothers waging war like engines of destruction, shutting down the corrupted defenders throughout. The enemy had not been ready for boarding actions at such a dangerously large distance, where they could've easily lost much if they were all shot down.

And that betting on a conventional foe was what was going to damn them.

One of the Chaos Marines had broken through the gun line peppering it's twisted kin, and took a wild swing at Octavian with it's revving Chainaxe. He deflected the blow, and backhanded the vile vermin in the face. While assessing the damage, he also saw the full extent of the Marine's corruption.

Bloodshot red eyes stared at him from a mask of pure hate, cheeks pulled upwards by nails embedded into the flesh, trapping the muscles in their position, leaving it with a permanent bloody snarl. It was contemptible to simply look at the abomination before him, and with renewed wrath he worked to end it right there.

"Die, whore!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, as he blocked another blow with _Torment_, while _Defiance _ripped through the traitor's armor like a hot knife through butter. It started at it's stomach and ended up on it's right shoulder, before being pulled out of the body. He'd known he'd hit both hearts as the Heretic Astartes convulsed briefly before flopping on the ground.

Yet still his rage was not quelled, as he put one armored boot over the traitor's head, and pushed down. Eventually the satisfying crack of shattered bone and wet squelch of exploded brain matter met his ears, and he moved on, satisfied with the kill.

The battle barge was armored to the teeth, but it's insides were pathetically weak by comparison, most of the garrisoned forces of Chaos inside having dropped down to the planet below, waging war against the most holy grounds to one of the Ultramarines gene-seed.

He did not care in the end. Whether he'd face a thousand traitors here or down in the world below, he'd make each one bleed an ocean for what they'd done. But as it was, they still had a mission to accomplish, as he voxed his Command Squad to march forwards.

* * *

The creature squealed in his presence. He caused it pain. Good. That was the closest thing he'd come to joy this day.

He had found one of the foul Neverborn. One of the engine decks of the _Ferrum Mortem _had been entirely swept clean of life, though "clean" was perhaps not the best word for it. Corpses littered the floor, the walls, some even the ceiling, all twisted, turned and mauled unnaturally.

The thing before him was an ocean of limbs, a pitch black cephalopod-like creature, with misshapen and irregular tentacles sprouting and receding from every spot in it's amorphous blob body. It was large, standing as wide as he was tall, and in it's center a gaping circular maw of razor sharp rows of teeth, grinding like the those of a chain weapon.

But it felt discomfort, and most of all, _fear _in it's presence. That made killing it almost satisfying, something he'd never thought he'd experience in his life.

The hordes of Nurgle had never felt fear. The blood cults of Khorne had not either. They were too cohesive, too sunk into their relevant patron, too numerous. But this one: alone, freshly manifested, high on the euphoria of tasting human blood. This one did.

He slew the creature painfully, methodically. Something about it feeling fear made him want to cause as much suffering as he could. As if the daemon was painless so long that it decided it was painless. Given the subjective nature of the Warp, and the very existence of daemons as living ideas and concepts, he wouldn't have judged this thought all that strange even in a normal state.

But eventually, the creature did fizzle away and die, like he knew it would. It never stood a chance, and the moment that he delivered the fatal strike, he could tell it's soul would never grow back in the Aether.

Perhaps it was a quality of his armament, touched by the psychic power and technology of the Emperor's design. Perhaps it was the soul within him granting him this power. Whatever it was, it was the same as when he had felled the Great Unclean One on Sors. He inflicted permanent death upon the creatures.

And at that, a clipped vox-clip filtered into his helm. Immediately, without hesitation, he rushed to the destination demanded by the message. Several minutes of full blown running later, he found himself in a storage room, where a mix of Heretic Astartes and Neverborn wreaked havoc on the Marines of the Unbroken Squad.

And right in the thick of it, was found the source of the message. Gan, in contrast to his previous self from months past, now confidently strode into close quarters combat, assaulting two of the abominations before him. In less than a second, Kronos was by his side, and they both fought together, just as practiced.

Heretic after heretic, daemon after daemon, they all fell to their flawless flow. A piercing thrust by him, compounded by swinging strike from Gan's newly commissioned Power Saber. They moved in tandem, like two gears in the same machine.

Where one ducked, the other struck. Where one weaved, the other pressed. Though Gan was not yet on his level, his training had begun to shine, as soon the entire room was cleared by their effort.

No words needed to be exchanged then, as both warriors checked their communication logs for any further requests for assistance. When it appeared that all stragglers on the ship had been eliminated, they focused on getting back to the command deck.

In the long trek through the ship's never-ending corridors however, Kronos received an urgent update.

He was lucky his helmet concealed his facial features, for they would've seemed either unsettling or chucklesome. Nonetheless, his bark over the vox was heard the same.

"He's doing WHAT with the battle barge?"

* * *

The last traitor fell down.

Well, in a manner of speaking. It was more like his body feel down. In pieces. He had the air burst of a Bolt round to thank for that.

Once the Heretic Astartes and the occasional daemon had been dispatched by his numerically superior force, the barge was ripe for the taking. Human militia, even the immensely mutated ones, could only provide so much resistance to an unrelenting tide of green and grey-clad behemoths.

Now they stood on the command deck of the ship, the last of it's officers blasted apart. Like the majority of the corrupted vessel, ten thousand years of Warp-influence had bent it's shape into a twisted, bastardized joke of a true deck. Machines run on daemon souls were the least of atrocities committed inside this den of sin, and even he could smell that in the air.

But he would have use for the reigns of this ship. He had been very deliberate in informing his warriors to take out vox arrays as soon as they could, never allowing the brain of the ship to truly know what was happening. Now, as they had decapitated the operation, the outside did not know of their takeover either.

He may not have been the greatest tactician, but he worked with morbid efficiency and tenacity, and his plans, once in motion, were terrifying to behold. And now, he prepared for his final gamble.

"Destrudo," he barked, and his senior Librarian was with him. The entirety of his command staff had joined him on the deck. "I need you to make this ship still."

A beat passed as the psyker comprehended what his commander was asking.

"You want me to plunge my mind into this vile abomination in hopes of getting it to obey us?"

"Not your mind. You merely need to torture it with your psychic gifts enough for it to relent," the Captain said, as he sat in a command chair that inspired great disgust, but was nonetheless vital. "These ships may have the daemonic in them, but beyond that, they are still ships. Mechanisms, technologies tied cause and effect govern them all the same. I just need you to keep this vile thing in check for a little while as I work."

The Librarian still looked hesitant, yet did as he was told. His eyes cackled with energy as he swung his psychic hood over himself, engaging into the vast mind of the Warp predator all around them. Several minutes in, his nose began bleeding, while the walls around them seemed to contort, as a scream slowly made itself known, growing louder and louder until his helmet's sound buffers had to adjust.

It was a sound wholly inhuman, though he took it as his gamble working. With haste, he took command of the ship, ancient panels and buttons upon the derelict throne still recognizable to him, as he veered the battle barge off course and into the belly of the enemy fleet.

A voidship, especially one as big as a battle barge, was truly pathetic in it's maneuvering capabilities, though the other ships in the fleet were either too surprised or too slow to get out of the way of even it's lumbering bulk. So it was that after several minutes, the ship was gliding towards the others in it's formation, creating a perpendicular line with them.

And a bit after that, Octavian achieved first blood. A small escort stood in front of the barge, with it's engines too slow to start to get out of the way and it's Void Shields too weak to stop the gargantuan ship. So it was cleaved in two by the blow.

Satisfied that his makeshift battering ram had been successfully repurposed, he told Destrudo to cease the meddling with the ship's malign soul. Even if the daemon wanted to, it could not stop it's own momentum now, a fact made abundantly clear as another psychic scream, more potent than the one before, sounded around them, as the walls seemed to cave in.

He had his men grab the weakened and bloodied Librarian, and activated a rune on his helm display.

"Engage teleportation!" he barked, smiling despite himself. They could've easily done that from the start, but the risk of losing good brothers in the transit was too high then. It was almost too high for him now as well, but even if he was reckless, he had always been good at being just the right degree of reckless for success.

With a blink, the stowaways were off, propelled by powers they barely understood housed in their armored carapace into a realm of pure thought, and then back again in the safety of their own vessel. Some of them would not make it, but the sight of the traitor's own ship barreling through their ranks almost made it worth it.

Almost.

* * *

The White Scars and the Custodian witnessed the last remnants of the Chaos blockade falter and fall to pieces. Their larger fleet had been the hammer, though the rampaging, out of control battle barge had been the anvil upon which it had been broken.

They still did not have an idea of the full extent of the enemy's presence within and around the system, but for now at least, the pathway to Macragge was clear. They had also at this point been hailed by the Ultramar Defense Fleet, which before their arrival was facing dreadful odds in keeping the Chaos forces at bay. Even now, the battle hardly seemed won, but expertly, Bodol had directed their fleet to the areas of greatest importance, as they established a safe perimeter for landing on Macragge itself.

Eventually Octavian himself emerged in the command deck, having made his way from the teleportation bay. His armor was scorched and battered, though his stride exuded confidence. He seemed to not be a fan of removing his helm.

"Captain," he acknowledged, as the master of the _Ferrum Mortem _moved alongside him, his veterans not far behind.

"Lord Kronos," he said gruffly, though the smile could be heard in his voice. Battle satisfaction was still within him.

"That was one of the most reckless maneuvers I have ever observed," Kronos commented, deciding to zero in on business. "I have yet to decide whether it falls under outstandingly brave or terribly stupid."

"Either or works lord. I am merely happy to have done my service."

Kronos gave him a once-over, thinking on his response, before nodding. His actions may have been less than considered, but he had given results. And results were all he cared for. Whether the Captain's intuition or luck, whichever it happened to be, would hold was yet to be tested on the world below.

"We have secured a vantage point on the ground," Nergui's voice drew their attention to a holomap approximating the assaulted world. "With good fortune, we land in the Valley of Laponis, and make for the Fortress of Hera, where the fighting will be thickest."

"What have the Ultramarines said about our presence?" Kronos asked.

"We have no idea if they even know we are here," the Stormseer admitted. "Macragge is burning and each loyal soul upon it is overtaxed with keeping it from being reduced to cinders. Even the Ultramar Defense Auxilia forces we've already contacted have rarely voxxed in the last few days."

"They are too overencumbered to even speak," Gan mused, quietly.

By his side, Kronos saw Octavian's fist clench. His aura spiked. Seeing his gene-forebearers in such a state was not doing wonders for his calm, and Kronos had to sympathize. Such sacrilege against one of the most advanced worlds in the Imperium could not be tolerated further.

"We launch as soon as we are able. Prepare yourselves, everyone. The Ultramarines, and especially the pawns of Chaos, will not find us wanting," Kronos said, and ensured the order did not go merely for those assembled on the deck, or even all those present on the ship, but for the entire fleet within his command.

Soon the deck itself was emptied of warriors, sans himself, Octavian, Gan, Nergui and Bodol. They soon began to develop the strategy with which they would strike down at the enemy below.

"What about simply launching a Drop Pod assault into their heart?" Octavian suggested.

"Not possible," Kronos said. "The area around the Fortress has been mired in all manner of traps, from what scouts report. Hundreds of death mechanisms, hidden bombs, even summoning runes to spill daemons into the Materium. I suspect the Iron Warriors are behind that one."

"They're trying to starve Hera of any assistance, while they bullrush it, hoping that loyalist relief cannot arrive in time," Octavian realized, disgusted and enraged. "Damned Chaos whoresons. It'll take weeks to stutter through this defensive line."

"Can we not simply carpet bomb the area?" Gan piped up.

"Impractical. The enemy is nothing if not pragmatic, they can and most likely have looted and repurposed any anti-air guns in the area, and that's not taking into account the danger of their own fliers and daemon engines. We don't possess a significant enough fighter wing to brute force it," Bodol countered.

Throughout the procession, Nergui had remained almost utterly silent, save for updates he received from the rest of the fleet's Astropaths, which he shared with them. He was a warrior, though not a strategist necessarily.

So it was surprising when he did argue at last for a choice.

"We could send a heavily armored, lightly manned speartip to brave the confines of the entrapped area first, then march our main force through."

"Astra Militarum tanks, and even our own are too slow. They'll also be bogged down in Macragge's mountainous terrain, along with being huge targets," Bodol said.

"I doubt that armor could even make it through what awaits us down there," Octavian mused.

"Then what do you propose, Captain?"

"Simple, Chaplain: Terminators."

"Are you serious?"

"They possess the armor, the maneuverability, and the firepower to clean through that field."

"We do not have enough to break through however," Kronos interrupted. "Think Captain: how many suits are in our possessions right now? A dozen, at most? That will not break the defensive cordon and deal with the defenders. A Terminator is formidable, but against Chaos Marines, that number is poultry."

"Why not Centurions?"

The assembled turned to look at Gan.

"They possess the necessary armor and firepower, even more so than Terminators. We have more of them than said suits, and they do not require a veteran with a Crux Terminatus to pilot. We can deploy them alongside our Venerable Fallen to blast through the enemy's defenses."

"You would have us wake the Dreadnoughts?" Octavian asked, surprised.

"The homeworld of your Primarch burns beneath our feet Doom Legionary. His holy fortress is besieged. Chaos knocks at the door of one of the greatest symbols of Imperial might and prosperity," the Stormseer responded then. "I agree with Gan. If there ever was any time to wake our ancient brothers, it is now."

The Captain could not contest such reasoning, so he did not raise any objection beyond that.

"We will need warriors," Bodol began. "Those fully engrossed within the fighting styles of their respective Centurion units. In absence of our specialist Companies, we must pick from Assault and Devastator Squad members we have on hand."

"I believe we must break convention on this occasion, honorable Chaplain," Gan said. "We can only pick the most experienced of us. Ones who have been engrossed in the ways the Centurions reflect, but have now passed that."

"Are you nominating yourself as well Gan?"

"Perhaps I am. I do not see why not. I was once one of the elite Devastators, and never fully moved past until recently. I believe I am more than qualified to go to war down there."

Before the argument could continue, Kronos put a stop to it.

"Gan's idea is not a bad one. I think we have all seen how much good convention has done in situations of crisis far lesser than this. Furthermore, it will be helpful to have my equerry by my side."

"Custodian, then are you...?"

"Yes. I have stood on the sidelines for far too long. I will be there on the Primarch's side, and that is final," he turned to both Nergui and Octavian. "You, Stormseer, will accompany us, as well as you, and any Librarians you can spare, Captain. Their gifts will be invaluable in the battle to come. You may also have any Terminators you can provide down there with us."

A beat passed, and both warriors nodded.

"It will be done."

"Aye."

He gave the assembled Marines one more look, before turning his gaze to the windows which showed the world below.

"You have much to do. Go. And may he on the Throne guide us."

Slowly, they began moving, as the preparations for the operation began, his vox already cackling with activity. He heard a chorus of something relating to the Emperor from them all, but tuned it out, already entirely focused on the subject of his quest.

* * *

**Author's notes: **Also known as the chapter where shit actually starts happening again.

Yeah, it's been quite a break from the action hasn't it? Well, I'm happy to announce for those who like that it is back and will likely not stop for some time. In the meanwhile, the giant teddy bears will begin their attack on the HAIRETICS.

Right, what else? Notes, notes...Oh yeah, go read Watchers of the Throne, you nerds. Great book, much better than this shit, takes less to get to the point too.

Anyway, this has been all from me. Have a good one. This has been Dome of Bones signing off.


	24. Demigods Defiant

Check the bottom of the chapter for notes.

* * *

Deathstorm Drop Pods fell down relentlessly on the trap-laden ground. The ones that were not destroyed outright by the hazardous terrain opened up fire on just about anything they could, blasting through both deathly contraptions and corrupted invaders.

When over a dozen of such war machines had landed successfully, they paved the way for the rest that followed, which contained actual cargo. White mixed with gold and red, and green mixed with grey barreled through the atmosphere, landing on the scorched earth with deafening impacts.

From these pods however, did not emerge the storm of weapons fire, but a far more dangerous force. Terminators, numbering seven in total, two from the Sons of Chogoris and five from the Doom Legion, along with the Stormseer, the Captain and the Custodian Lord.

They marched, ignoring blade and Bolter that rang across their frame, as they scoured the landscape even more than the appropriately-named Deathstorms had. They tore apart stragglers, they battled and ripped to shreds defense encampment, and disposed of traps by simply walking through them, each one's armor a practical tank.

At last however, they did stumble upon an obstacle which couldn't be overcome so easily.

"Summoning rune!" the Stormseer shouted through the vox, being the first to notice the influence the corrupted sigil had had on the ground, and feeling it's presence through his enhanced senses. The Custodian picked up on it barely a second later, when it had been already activated and was doing it's intended purpose.

A gigantic mass of an abomination slithered forth from the erupting magic, a terrifying head bearing the visage of a goat and wolf skull fused together emerging first, five long tongues impossibly lolling out of it's mouths. The body came next, bulbous and monstrous, quadrupedal and filled with thick, shaggy red fur, each muscular leg ending in a thick, clawed hand.

The Imperial was not found wanting in slaying it quickly.

**_Custodian, _**the Stormseer roared, not so much in voice as psychic shockwave, as chains of lightning spilled forth from his staff, ensnaring the creature just as it was preparing to pounce on one of the Doom Legion Terminators. Yet it was far from immobilized, as the Terminator soon found attempting to tear into it with it's Thunder Hammer, as a massive scorpion-like tail emerged from the creature's behind.

Being thrown clear off from the impact, the Custodian saw it fit to step in instead, as he jumped into the air, slicing off the tail and sinking his spear straight into the daemon's multi-skull, all in the span of a few nanoseconds. The vile thing convulsed several times, which prompted him to drive the blade down the craniums and into the body, as his feet finally landed on the ground.

Eventually torn neatly in half from the head-down, the creature finally withered and died, it's blood and flesh dissolving into immaterial wisps of steam and eventually nothing.

They checked on the downed Terminator. An unsightly scar now decorated his armor, though nothing was compromised, so they marched onwards.

More traps, more daemons, more Heretic Astartes met their advance. They lost two of their own in the exchanges, a Terminator blasted to steaming slag by a Plasma Cannon, and another dragged into the maw of a Neverborn beast the size of a Land Raider, still kicking and screaming as he was devoured.

The detonation from his power pack killed the monster before any of them had the chance to, a final spiteful spit in the face of the enemy.

As they advanced and cleared more and more of the area, their armor began to reflect this. Scars, abrasions, burns and more began littering the previously polished to perfection battle plate, though their falls only enhanced their killing instinct. Octavian in particular displayed absolute ruthlessness, personally killing over two dozen Chaos Marines by himself, his stride and vigor not encumbered at all by the weighty Tactical Dreadnought armor he too now bore.

Eventually, tactical consensus from the Custodian, the Stormseer, the Captain and the Chaplain high in orbit, deemed the area safe for their true force to land.

Several Thunderhawks came careening through the atmosphere. Nigh half of them were nearly shot down even with the sweep-up work the initial forces had done, but in the end, they all made landfall unharmed.

From them emerged a full 22 warriors of mostly steel and relatively little flesh. Two whole Centurion Squads numbering five each from the Doom Legion, two from the White Scars numbering three and each led not by a Sergeant but by an experienced Battle-Brother, reflecting their losses yet also their defiance to the hands of fate. Two Librarians from the Doom Legion were also among those landed.

And finally, there were the true juggernauts unleashed from the hulls of Thunderhawk Transporters: the Dreadnoughts. Two for each Chapter partaking in the offensive, Kronos motioned for the White Scars ones to approach them as the units solidified.

The White Scars found it distasteful to inter themselves into a Dreadnought, many a Marine choosing to simply die, as the confines of the sarcophagus would never let them feel the acceleration and adrenaline of a hit-and-run battle again. It was a miserable existence, yet like all Chapters, they needed their venerable ancients, and so Dreadnoughts existed regardless.

With their forces gathered, no words needed to be exchanged as the armored column invaded deep into enemy-held territory, their Thunderhawks acting as fast scouts before retreating up into orbit. They set their sights now on the Fortress of Hera.

* * *

It was hours before they could make it past the Chaos hordes to the gates of the Fortress proper. On the way, they'd lost brothers, even the battle plate of Centurion and Terminator armor not enough to preserve them against the brunt of enemy assault.

The Dreadnoughts however, stood steadfast and indomitable, beacons of fortitude that guided their brothers with bellows of wrathful anger and righteous hate. Where all others could fall, they were perseverance incarnate, their armor bent, broken and burnt, yet still holding. They had fooled the jaws of death once, and many more times with ease after that.

The Custodian went through the thickest fighting however, taking on all manner of corrupted warrior and beast. Through the carnage, his armor never once gave, never once broke, it's gold tarnished by the heavy fighting, yet never even scraped.

Eventually, Hera herself stood before them. The sight of their objective, gleaming beautifully in the sun emboldened them. For the distant sons of Ultramar, they felt their hearts pump faster at the sight of their primogenitors' sacred home, damaged yet still standing tall.

The Custodian was the only one not affected by the shift, continuing in his own pace as he always had.

"Watch yourselves," he voxed simply, and with almost alarming prophecy the last great hurdle between them and their destination became apparent, as they descended upon a great slope into a wider section of the valley.

Two massive Bloodthirsters of Khorne stood like grand, perverse statues, as tall as a Warhound each, before their view of the fortress. They seemed almost like twins, but where one had dripping blood red wings, the other's were ebony black. They each carried massive spiked whips on their right hands, and massive battleaxes that dwarfed Land Raiders.

Their mouths were trailing spittle as each creature roared in voice that could uproot trees and blow eardrums from miles away, as their psychic field seemed to make the very ground beneath quake and rend apart. And with dreadful inevitability, the massive beasts showed what they already knew: they were not there alone.

Dozens, perhaps even hundreds of Bloodletters of Khorne rushed through from underneath their massive, pillar-like legs, in a mad sprint towards the Imperial force. Without a word the Space Marines and the Custodian prepared to meet them head on.

The advancing horde met a wall of guns, steel, and rage, as immaterial flesh clashed with very much real metal. At the very start, despite their vastly superior numbers, the daemons possessed no chance against the heavily armored foe, that possessed the power of three more than adept psykers with them.

Octavian and Kronos were at the forefront, daemon after daemon being dismembered gruesomely and utterly without mercy as more of them were slain before the last wave's remains even hit the ground.

The Custodian himself burst forth through the mass, and stared down the black-winged titan. With a roar that seemed to shake the skies themselves, they engaged in single combat.

Chain met armor, as spearhead met axe blade, the two forces crashing into each-other like hurricanes, their respective psychic auras flaring even as the ground ripped apart at their feet.

Rocketing forward on a powerful step, Kronos slammed into the body of the beast. And despite his small stature by comparison, the sound of cracked ribs and the sight of ripped skin was still produced by the seemingly inconsequential attack. The creature staggered, it's footing lost. And that was all the Custodian needed.

He swiftly threw himself away from the monstrous abdomen, before launching once more at one of the daemon's legs, toppling it along with the entire vile creature. Then, with terrifying swiftness and strength, he dragged the Titan-sized beast before briefly lifting it and slamming it back down the ground, creating a large spiderweb of cracks that extended for hundreds of meters into the rocky crust of the valley.

Before he could have the chance to do that again however, the Bloodthirster's massive leathery wings unfolded from underneath it, before flapping with enough force to knock a regular human over. Then they did so again, and again, until the thrust generated from them was enough to propel the creature off the ground.

Of course no being as gigantic could possibly fly in normal circumstances due to simple laws of physics, but those held little sway in the movement of the great immaterial beast, it's manifestation merely approximating the mortal concept without following it in the slightest. So it was that the Custodian and the Bloodthirster plowed into the sky itself.

But what the beast was not expecting was Kronos not holding on for dear life, but instead letting go without much resistance from it's body, as in-built thrusters shifted outward from his armor's power pack, propelling him through the air, after the creature.

* * *

On the ground below, the other Bloodthirster moved against the incoming wall of Imperial armor. The psykers, Librarians from the Doom Legion and the Stormseer of the White Scars took point first, this enemy being theirs to face first due to their gifts.

His eyes cackling with power, the Son of Thunder struck first as the very weather in the region seemed to shift, growing more wild, by his wrath alone. With incantations of piety and purity, he set out bolts of immaterial energy screaming towards the creature.

Any of it's lesser counterparts would've been burnt to ash by the display of force, but the beast was not even deterred, the only sign of damage being scorch marks across it's body that began regenerating almost immediately. With a roar that nearly blew Nergui away from it's sheer force, the Greater Daemon charged, it's bulbous mass of gigantic, coiled muscles concealing it's swiftness.

The Stormseer for his part did not back down for an instant, and challenged the terrifying monster in close combat. Though his courage was vast, his skills however could not match an embodiment of conflict itself, second only to the Blood God it was a part of. With lightning swiftness, the massive daemon brought down it's axe, which was barely parried from an energy-surrounded tribal scepter, the impact nearly shattering the Stormseer's weapon.

Without missing a beat the Bloodthirster continued it's onslaught, each strike lumbering yet imbued with a bestial precision and unimaginable force, making the Stormseer give ground and nearly give his life with each hit. Any lesser warrior would've devolved to a rabid beast by now through the daemon's sheer oppressive aura of bloodlust, though in this battle good enough was not going to cut it and the Stormseer realized that.

Before a fatal blow could be struck however, a chain of fire grasped the beast by one arm, and tugged, halting it's momentum, if only briefly. Without pause, another was soon coiling like a great infernal snake along it's other arm, and before long a barreling mass of white slammed into it's gargantuan body, making it stumble.

Only then did Nergui see the vision of his two counterparts from the Doom Legion utilizing their power to contain the beast, and the magnificent sight of Ancient Berke mauling the giant daemon, the Dreadnought's charge staggering it.

To the White Scars, a Dreadnought was a fate worse than a death, a horrifying existence that was anathema to their philosophy of life and war. To be interred in one, a warrior had to either choose that path himself, or be of such exceptionally rare quality as to have his loss be considered an unacceptable outcome. Their numbers within the Chapter were low, the number of their deployments even lower. Only the direst of circumstances prompted their awakening.

They were _Uhaan Solban_, Guardians of the Morning and Evening Stars in Chogorian tongue. They stood vigil always, their frames antiquated by now, thousands of years out of service from other Chapters. The two sticking with their current detachment were the only ones the 4th Brotherhood possessed. But now, awakened for such an important fight, they were a sight to behold.

Berke, in particular, was of the later category of warriors that were interred, that of those who were simply too valuable to be lost. He had been the Brotherhood Champion for nearly 600 years before his fall, and it had taken an Ork Warlord the size of a Chimera to down him at last. He now battle with as much ferocity and hate as he did in a previous life, multiplied a thousand times by the sheer rage and depression he felt at being imprisoned in such a metallic Hell.

In his right arm a Plasma Cannon blazed as he unloaded shot after shot of flying miniature suns into the daemon, while his ornate Power Fist slammed into it's body with vicious impacts that could've toppled a small Imperial Knight over, the taut, thick flesh giving away at the edges of it's power field.

With haste, the Stormseer himself launched once more against the Bloodthirster, which was beginning to regain it's bearings. Just as he ascended to the skies however, the beast led out a vicious roar at the pummeling, which was inconveniencing it about as much as being repeatedly stung by a wasp.

With a swift movement, it's massive, armored fist impacted the Dreadnought's chassis with enough force to make a Titan halt, as the venerable fallen was launched upwards like a rocket, descending and crashing into the ground, a ruined husk hundreds of meters away. Nergui could make out through his enhanced eyes the sight of liquid leaking from the sarcophagus of the Mark IV body.

Whether Berke still lived or was at least one with the Emperor was anyone's guess however, as his psychic senses were too overwhelmed and saturated by the beacon that was the daemon before him, and his mind too occupied with the adrenaline rushing through his system, as his mouth moved in an unnatural tongue, calling forth the power of the storm. The daemon broke free of it's fiery restraints, only to have a bolt of lightning larger than it's entire body slam onto it mercilessly.

The flash was gone, and the daemon raised itself. One of it's great horns was missing, it's sharp teeth fell broken and chipped from it's mouth, and a trickle of blood slithered down it's neck. But it was not even close to finished. With a bellow, it swung it's massive whip at him, which the Stormseer responded to by screaming his own litany and engaging a cackling chain of electric death from his fingertips, that ensnared the daemon's own weapon.

Yet with cunning, the daemon pulled on the whip, dragging the Stormseer out of the sky at breakneck speed, and right into it's range. Without pause, the daemon raised his fist too fast for Nergui to react, punching the Astartes straight into the earth itself.

At the gargantuan impact, Nergui felt bones break, tendons snap, armor crack and organs puncture. Blood and acidic bile pooled into his moth and throat, even as it clotted. He'd lost all sensation in his lower left quarter. With dreadful inevitability he was pulled upwards, as a whip of thorns coiled around him like a living creature, it's vicious teeth biting at his exposed flesh through the armor, as his mind threatened to give at images of horrid frenzy and omnicidal debauchery.

Like a bolt of lightning, the whip cracked as it ascended at insane speeds, dragging his mangled body along with it, before plowing him into the ground once more, further compromising his armor and his injuries. The roars of the beast however were soon drowned out by the roars of weapon fire, as even from his miniature crater within the ground the Stormseer saw what happened next.

Captain Octavian and the rest had made it fully past the horde of lesser daemons, and were now engaging the Bloodthirster with everything they had. Every Bolter round, every Lascannon shot, every missile was directed at the massive body with the intent to utterly murder as it itself wanted to.

Assault Centurions and Terminators charged into the fray, fearless to a fault, hacking into the legs of the beast, Octavian among them. Both Librarians of the Doom Legion, Destrudo in particular, charged and blasted with psychic bolts of monstrous energy. The Dreadnoughts left fired relentlessly as they approached, slow and unyielding, ready to engage the monster as valiantly as their peer had.

And yet it was barely enough to keep the Greater Daemon at bay, as immaterial flesh that was rent apart mended itself supernaturally quick, if it was harmed at all. The creature roared again, as it's great axe rose and with it's fall three Centurions were bisected, before it's great whip lashed out like a coiled snake and penetrated through three Terminators and another Centurion, dragging them effortlessly into the dirt and mud just as he had been.

Seeing the dire situation, the Stormseer willed himself to his legs even as his secondary heart roared in his chest like it seldom had before. But under his power, bones were reknitted and flesh pulled itself together, just enough to keep him alive and fighting, albeit in horrible agony. He rose the air once more, a bloodied figure, yet as indomitable as his enemy was resilient.

With another roar, two lightning whips manifested this time, one chained to his arm and the other to his staff, as he barreled towards the daemon who was now in the process of meeting it's axe blade with the Captain's own swords. The clash happened before the Stormseer's intervention, and the Captain felt both his weapons shatter as his arms nearly broke from the impact.

A burning collective of Empyrean death energies crashed into the belly of the beast before it could finish it's job however, and it roared in frustration of a kill denied more so than any pain. It's abdomen was charred black as the wings of it's brother, and it turned once more to the Stormseer.

With newfound haste Nergui gathered as much psychic energy as he could, the power gathering at his staff's tip. His teeth were grit as every ounce of his strength was poured into the implement, as it cackled with all his psychic might. Then with a battle roar, just as the Bloodthirster was nearly upon him, he unleashed Hell on it unlike anything Macragge had seen on it's surface for a long time.

The flare of energy was visible from orbit, like a nuclear device going off, yet there was no gigantic explosion, more-so a concentrated burst of hurtful light that would be enough to flash boil a whole ocean in any other circumstance, were it not so compressed and focused.

The Stormseer dropped to the ground like a stone, feeling his knees buckle under his own weight, as all the mending he had achieved on his body came undone as his powers fled him, every last drop of energy devoted to the attack. And as the dust cloud cleared, he saw what caused his hearts to skip a beat, even in their frenzy to keep him alive.

The creature before him was hurt. It was hurt bad. It's head was half-incinerated, leaving a huge chunk of bone where a monstrous face should have been. Various other pieces of it's body where in a similar condition, and it's wings were in tatters. But it was still alive, it was still cognizant and it was **pissed**.

Another storm of fire aimed at it only served to enrage it further, as it threw it's giant axe into the mass of assaulting Marines, splitting one of the Doom Legion Dreadnoughts in two, killing three other Centurions and horribly mauling Destrudo. It then descended upon him, using it's free hand to grasp him in a crushing grip that nearly gave his body the last blow it needed to succumb.

However, it became clear that wasn't the creature intent, as it hovered the trapped Stormseer over it's mouth, which opened wide open. Renewed by the discovery that he was about to be eaten alive, he struggled within the grip, but it was fruitless, for the creature's massive hand was like a vice. Just as he was about to be crushed by regenerating gnashing teeth however, a battle scream that would've hurt mortal ears sounded over the conflict.

The Captain was crawling along the daemon's broken wing, carrying a huge Thunder Hammer he had looted from one of his fallen brethren. The beast tried shaking him off, but it had simply lost control over the broken appendage, resulting in merely a twitch. So his whip flared next, but it was for naught, for the Terminator had already jumped by that time, resulting in the only thing being maimed being the wing.

He had nearly arrived at the base of the wing when he jumped again, onto the daemon's shoulder, and the Bloodthirster simply gave up on it's lesser prey, dropping Nergui to the ground, who was content to lay there, for he could do nothing else. As it tried to grasp the Captain however, Octavian jumped willingly into the mouth of the beast, as it's jaw closed fast enough to sever one of his legs effortlessly.

To any outside observer, the Captain seemed dead, entirely gone in his brave but foolish decision. Yet, that assertion was quickly proven untrue as numerous flashes of light could be seen from the belly of the monster, as smoke began rising out of it's mouth.

Without pause, a different type of light took the place of the other ones, constant now instead of flashing, less intense, cold electric blue in contrast to blazing yellow. And the source of it was quickly made clear as a hammer head the size of a regular human's body tore through the monster's abdomen, surrounded in a haze of power and coiling wisps of lightning.

He barked something into the vox, which Nergui only now understood still existed, and he saw the last psyker in condition to fight respond to his Captain's call. He was a novice, likely only a Lexicanium, a newly assigned Librarian with minimal experience. His psychic potential was nothing to laugh at however, especially in such an agitated state.

He charged his attack, siphoning an unreal amount of energy from the Warp. Were he not careful he could lose himself. Nergui would've warned him, had his powers not fled him entirely and if he was still willing to listen, as the novice screamed with immaterial-borne agony, even as his fingers were nearly flash-boiled. But he did not yield.

A black ball of flames as dark as the void of space emerged before him, as his eyes glowed with unnatural colors. Then, with a final defiant shout, the terrible attack was launched. The Captain simply retreated back into the belly of the beast, seemingly hoping it would be enough to take the brunt of the assault as the daemon died.

The Warp flame wrought carnage upon the open wound first, but it also set the whole daemon on fire, a black gnawing flame that could be extinguished by no ordinary means. At last, the Bloodthirster, the most dangerous being in the galaxy short of a god, great causer of pain and suffering, felt pain itself as it's body crumbled to ash from the point of impact outward.

The Captain leapt through the fires, his armor mangled, charred and discolored, his leg from the knee-down missing, but alive. The young Librarian collapsed, and the daemon soon followed, it's flesh dissolving into the stuff of the Warp as it returned from whence it came.

Nergui sat there in the grave silence that ensued, his will to move fleeting. Then he remembered they all still had a job to do. Painkillers were being pumped into his system actively now, by his own body as well as what remained operational from his armor, which he also only now noticed.

With a grunt. he attempted to get up, only to have himself almost fall over, before being caught by a rough, giant hand. At his side, he saw a Centurion in the livery of his own Chapter.

"We advance still Stormseer," came Gan's voice through the helm. "Can you walk?"

He stared for a little while, then with supreme effort, still hanging onto the massive frame of the warsuit, he raised himself to his feet, taking his helmet off and discarding the ruined armor piece.

"Aye. I can walk."

* * *

In the skies above a duel commenced, two great winged beasts, one Imperial and one of Chaos, clashing into each-other with the force to level mountains. One's wings were metal, powered equally by science and occult magics, whereas the other's were purely thoughtform, almost vestigial, for their user could almost be just fine going on without them at all.

_Manifest Destiny _clashed against the daemon's great axe, dissolving a cloud formation in the process, kilometers worth of water vapor blown apart in an instant. Another clash, a broken mountain. Another, a new valley created. Yet another, and a crevice into the bowels of the earth was formed.

There they descended, their crashes and bashes unleashing untold forces upon the geology of Macragge, as the crevice became a whole cave system while they barreled through it, their speed imperceptible to anything but themselves, despite each of their lumbering masses.

The Bloodthirster roared, as it's aura spiked, a red haze that ballooned outward like a dust cloud, which would've torn and boiled anything within it's confines to bubbling mincemeat. It however, met an equally potent opponent, as the Custodian was clad in a golden cloak of pure psychic energy.

They continued battling underground, the sheer force of both their physical hits and immaterial powers carving out entirely new subterranean systems into the depths of the world. This was less a fight between two entities and more a conflict between two walking forces of nature, the Bloodthirster against the Emperor fragment within the Custodian.

The only thing that could compare to the spectacle was a duel between two Primarchs, a legendary feat that was only spoken of in reverent myths, and for good reason, as the wars between the demigods were just as much contests of raw Warp power as strength, spiritual and conceptual as much as physical.

Within their field of effect, laws of physics temporarily ceased functioning properly, time became strange and surreal, and would've appeared entirely nonsensical to an outside observer. The Custodian knew however that something would have to break the deadlock, lest their unchecked powers rip open a rift into the Immaterium itself, which would spell disaster for the already overencumbered defenses of the planet.

So he charged directly into the Greater Daemon, dodging nimbly both the axe and the whip, slamming into it's gargantuan body with monstrous force, rocketing both of them towards one of the many holes in the ground they had made. It was a minutes long flight to the edge of the atmosphere, before he broke off from the creature.

Already the effects of his actions were visible on it, as it's vibrant coloring had darkened, it's fiery eyes were duller, even it's size seemed to have decreased on a closer look. This was the weakness daemons all possessed. The further they were taken from their summoning source, and their source of power, mortal souls engaging in each of their patron's domains, the weaker they became.

In all practical circumstances, it was incredibly difficult to exploit, and unless distanced by a ridiculous margin, was hardly ever worth it, in the cases where it was possible. But Kronos possessed no such limitations, and that tiny bit of lost power was all he needed to turn the tide of the battle.

The manifestation lessened, and he converged on it like a vicious predator strangling helpless, diseased and old prey. He broke through the guard of the axe, restrained the whip with one arm even as it coiled around his armor and scrapped horribly off of it, and with his free hand launched _Manifest Destiny _straight into the heart of the beast.

The effect was near instantaneous, the nature of the weapon working as it dissolved immaterial flesh into nothing beyond nothing. Kronos pressed his advantage by slamming the beast, before pushing on the impaling instrument, causing it to go deeper and deeper. Then utterly silently, he pulled upwards, slicing a huge chunk of the abdomen and chest in two.

With a final death roar that was heard like a crack of thunder despite the nigh-nonexistent atmosphere, the creature went limp as it began falling down, it's body already disintegrating. Another foul Neverborn that would bother the realm of the living no longer.

He took a moment to breathe within the filtered air of his helmet. He watched the stars in the void, and the ugly miasma of shifting colors that now stained them. The universe's peace itself, if it had ever known it, was now in more jeopardy that it had ever been. And he would not stand idly by, as he collected his thought and blasted back down to the planet.

* * *

His return had been a somber affair. Seeing the state of his detachment, he had apologized for being unable to help, despite his equally dangerous battle. Yet, they were all transhuman warriors. And despite the losses, they soldiered on, few words being exchanged as they made for the Fortress.

The time to mourn, as always, would come later.

The area almost entirely cleared now, regular forces began to descend from their ships. Guardsmen from recruited regiments, Imperial Knights from volunteering Houses, columns upon columns of armor, the forces of the Adeptus Mechanicus and the Adepta Sororitas, along with the rest of the Space Marines present in their detachment, now followed behind them.

But they still moved ahead as the other forces cleared and fortified the landing position, the spearhead of the assault continuing further without delay. Reinforcements were within reach anyway now.

They found the Fortress deathly deserted, yet the ring of battle never left their ears, as they saw what had likely caused the seemingly impossible: Dreadclaw Drop Pods, sunk into arguably the most important part of the entire superstructure, the Temple of Correction. Forces placed there would almost certainly have made for the Primarch's Shrine.

With renewed vigor and their hearts pumping into overdrive, each warrior broke off into a mad sprint, in some cases even running through walls entirely in trying to make to the place of the fighting, as roars of battle only got louder as they approached. The Doom Legion Astartes in particular were obviously fervent at knowing their gene-sire's barely maintained life was in jeopardy.

Finally, they arrived at the walls of the Temple itself, which Assault Centurions smashed through with no higher thought process. There, the sight that befell them was at once horrid and absolutely elating.

Dozens of Black Legion Astartes were fighting against Imperial defenders. Bodies littered the ground like a sculpture room. And at the heart of the onslaught, the clash between Chaos and Order, was the Primarch himself, Roboute Guilliman, alive and breaking through the enemy force like a tornado of devastation.

No words could describe the feeling that engulfed the Marines that had just entered the chamber: confusion, surprise, joy, honor and humbleness flooding their system. Some Doom Legion Marines outright cried shamelessly at the sight, and none could blame them, for if there was such an occasion to forgo their professionalism, it was now.

Then the moment was broken, as the Primarch and his defenders were still under assault, and they would not sit idly by. A roar engulfed the vox and the room entirely, as Chapter and name and title and blood became unimportant in the face of such a task. Each Battle-Brother found their blood boiling as they charged into the fray, fighting with more righteous rage than they had ever displayed before.

Even Kronos himself was caught up in the moment, and in one of the few times in his life, raised his voice to a booming thunder as he rammed into the Black Legion:

"**For the Emperor and the Primarch!**"

The lives of the Heretic Astartes were numbered in minutes then, sandwiched between the enraged defenders and the even more enraged reinforcements. Not one of them was going to escape this building alive and every soul there knew it. They tried fighting even harder for it, but their morale was shat at the sight of the two titans slaughtering them.

The Primarch and the Custodian moved like rampaging bulldozers through the ranks of the enemy, with each one of their strikes ending multiple lives. Where Guilliman was wrath incarnate, a nuclear bomb erupting upon the amassed Chaos forces, Kronos was a living missile barrage of hundreds, precise and concise. yet no less deadly.

The two leaders met in the center of the room, where the Black Legion were being slaughtered like cattle. They needed no words to be exchanged, they had allies and they had enemies, and nothing more was required to be known for them to do their job.

Soon a hundred Black Legionaries became fifty, then twenty, then ten, and then none as the last was simultaneously pierced by the Custodian as the Primarch's _Hand of Dominion _crushed his head.

A great feeling of relief but also strangeness washed over the room then, as Bolter shots stopped firing, cartridges stopped being used and thrown to the ground, and bodies stopped hitting the floor. The Custodian and Primarch at last became aware of each-other, observing the other as if sizing them up, their armor making them of almost equal size if not equal bulk.

Then a noise broke the dead silence that had engulfed everything. All turned to see Octavian dropping to one knee, a piece of metal support melded to his remaining leg armor as a makeshift prosthetic. The Captain of the Doom Legion removed his helm, laying it on the ground.

A hard-edged face of many lines and scars met the eyes of the present. Experienced, wartorn, yet, handsome in a way. It was topped with shaved blonde hair much the same in coloration as the Primarch's own from historic dais, and piercing blue eyes that would've normally shot through anyone with their harshness contained only humility and the love of a son in them.

It occurred to Kronos that he had never seen the Captain's face, even as others around them dropped to their knees and did the same, all gestures of reverence towards the awakened demigod among them.

At last, the Custodian's turn came as the entire chamber had been driven to their knees already. But even in such a moment, he was not a lesser of the Primarch. It was hard to tell whether he was an equal, but he would not kneel.

He did take his helmet off, and he did incline his head respectfully, but beyond that, he waited now for Guilliman to make his move. Which, ever the diplomat, he did.

Taking his own helmet off, and breathing in the first whiff of unfiltered air in over 10,000 years, Guilliman sheathed the massive flaming sword that he now wielded, and held out his relatively regular-sized gauntlet. For the first time in a long time, Kronos allowed himself a small smile as he rocked the Primarch's hand solidly.

"It is good to have you back, Avenging Son."

* * *

**Author's note: **And that concludes that LONG ASS chapter. I hope this extra big addition makes up somewhat for the longer-than-average wait.

Not much to say about this one, as I'm quite happy with how it came out. It's been quite a while since I've gotten to flex my battle writing muscles, though maybe next time I'll keep things a bit more concise.

Anyway, that's about it for these notes. See y'all in the next update. Dome of Bones out.


	25. Unbroken King

Check the bottom of the chapter for notes.

* * *

Within the next several days the awakened Primarch waged a brutal war against the tides of Chaos invading his planet. He had asked no further questions despite his condition, as the situation demanded his full attention, though as more and more things were revealed to him, it must've been impossible for him to not have become distraught.

Kronos knew of the feeling, the twisting edge of uncertainty as the reality of being transported to such a far away land and time set in. The Primarch, to his credit, was containing it far better than he would've thought. But then again, that was Guilliman's way. He'd never been one of the boastful, the loud-mouthed or the emotional, at least, never on the surface.

The first few frantic hours after the retaking of Hera had been spent waging war on every corner around Magna Civitas, the capital of Macragge. Kronos had no time to catch up with the Primarch or the rest of the important figures stationed there, though he did make note of each and every one of them, filing the information for later use.

Most curious among them had to be the Ynnari, an apparent subfaction to the Aeldari that he had no knowledge of, nor had encountered in any of the records he'd read during his stay in the _Crescent Moon_. He raised no objection to fighting alongside them, for they had apparently proved instrumental in the resurrection of Guilliman, but he never once trusted the xenos at any point, and that he doubted was ever going to change.

Another member of the mistmatched forces that had drawn his attention was Saint Celestine. He had read about the so-called Living Saints from the White Scars' archives. At the time, he did not know what to make of the phenomenon. So many of the cases of their appearance could be explained away as friendly forces seeing or mistaking things due to the effects of the Warp or even just plain battlefield hysteria. But some cases were far harder to disprove logically than others.

And now here stood an actual example of what millennia ago he would've considered an impossibility, fighting alongside him. Truly the 41st millennium had much to offer in terms of belittling everything he thought he knew.

Something which intrigued him more however, was the resemblance Celestine had to a certain vision he'd seen, the last time he had conversed with the Emperor's soul fragment. Whatever the case, he was certainly going to have to talk to her in private whenever he had the chance.

But that time was not now, as he now saw outside the open bays of a Thunderhawk. He had convinced the Primarch that his presence was far better suited to direct assaults rather than helping him strategically in the war room. He trusted a warrior that had conquered thousands of world more than enough to retake just one, especially when it was his own.

And so he sprinted off of the gunship, several Ultramarines following behind him with their Jump Packs engaged.

* * *

Days later, a council of giants was called upon a ramshackle room inside of the Fortress.

The toil of war demanded that resources be spent elsewhere, and so much of the massive structure still stood abandoned and wrecked from the enemy forces. Even the room they were discussing in was a former strategic operations command center repurposed to accommodate the couple dozen individuals responsible for the continuity of the war.

Macragge was already in the process of being freed. Nothing else could be expected from the tactical acumen of the Primarch reborn, leading his forces reenergized from the fervor of a living demigod fighting alongside them, like the time of old legends.

The liberation fleet provided by the Scions of Terra proved instrumental in riding the heart of Ultramar of Traitor Legion forces and their supporters, as the Chaos fleet now fled outside the system not just because of the massive build-up of Imperial forces, but also news of the resurrected Primarch. The stragglers would likely take months to fully remove however, both on the planet and around the system itself.

Now Kronos stood among the assembled, his armor still scorched and dirtied from the battles he'd already partaken in. He stood out from the rest of the gathering not just because of his size, comparable to the articulating giant at the center, but from his position. None strayed too near him, the only person within proximity being Gan, who had disengaged from his Centurion warplate at that point.

He saw the Primarch question and gleam every last iota of tactical data from every soul in the room, sans himself and Gan. An aura of unease hung around the both of them, Master of Macragge and Talon of the Emperor, as if neither were content with being the one to initiate the conversation.

Furthermore the aura around the Custodian in particular was not one the people around seemed willing to approach. He was a complete enigma to them all, Guilliman included, and his own men had done little to distill the rumors and speculations, instead simply going about their task of informing all the gathered about the critically pressing matters at hand.

However, as he saw the situation relax somewhat, the jaw of disaster unclenched from their necks slightly, even if for a little while, it seemed appropriate for him to finally give an explanation. The Primarch was going to be perhaps the most important being he would have relations with in this new millennium, and it was far better to start off on the right foot, for the sake of the Imperium and all within.

So it was that Kronos finally moved outside of the shaded corner of the room he had secluded himself to, sending a quick vox click to Gan for him not to follow. He caught the Primarch in the midst of speaking with a representative of the Ultramar Auxilia, a short rotund man with a bionic eye. The mortal soon enough became aware of the presence lurking behind him however, and moved out of the way, rather scared.

Since he had seen him, it had been impossible for Kronos to tell what the Primarch was feeling. His aura felt much like looking at a distant, dim star. No features could be discerned from it aside from it's simple brightness against the black backdrop of the void, and Guilliman's mere presence did make almost all around him like the emptiness of space.

Truly the Emperor's generals were as much a product of immaterial sorcery as material science, even if Kronos' mind instinctively flared in rejection of the former. He had to train that reflex out of himself. He was a walking proof of the realities of this new world they had all been shown so unfortunately in the wake of Magnus' Folly, and had continued defining the Imperium to this day.

Guilliman, ever aware, moved to meet him as he inclined his head, a simple gesture that he wished for a private audience. He dismissed the Honor Guard by his side, and both were distinctly aware of the stares being leveled at them as they exited the room. Neither particularly cared.

The walk was short, mercifully. Kronos allowed Guilliman to lead them, though he suspected the Primarch found himself as befuddled by the current state of the Fortress as any soul who had never laid eyes upon it's interior, even if he wasn't exactly going to get them lost.

At last they arrived at some nondescript chamber, now wrecked beyond imagination under the wrath the Fortress had endured. Statues, displays and more, instead of decorating the entire room now did so only to the floor, mostly as piles of rubble.

"Why here?" the Custodian broke the silence.

"This is the nearest chamber without any surviving audio surveillance. I checked," the Primarch responded flatly, as he turned to face the golden warrior now.

Kronos took off his helm. It was only cordial to regard each-other eye to eye.

"I have much to share, as you might imagine. Perhaps more than I can articulate. But I know that the war room awaits you still, so I will keep this brief," he preemptively took a breath he did not need for what was to come. "I am sure you've heard the rumors and analyzed them all. Not just that, but the reports of my troops as well. And after all, I don't think my appearance makes me very inconspicuous."

"What is your point Custodian?"

"I am not an ordinary warrior of the Emperor, Primarch. This much I can tell you know. What you may not know, is that I come from the same time as you do. When the stars were alight with the Arch-traitor's folly, when brother met brother in war for the first time. Like you, I was torn from that era, and placed here, by pure chance."

"I've heard similar from associates of yours I've already spoken to. I am still deciding on whether I believe so."

"What reason would I have to lie?"

"What reason would the Emperor have to lie?"

The venom raised from those words was unexpected, at first, though after a pause, it started to make sense. After all, Guilliman, while loyal to a fault, at least from the records Kronos had read during his voyage concerning his involvement in the Horus Heresy, was always one to voice his dismissal of the Emperor as a father. In the end, he turned out to be among the more correct of his brothers.

The Master of Mankind had never considered his gene-forged generals his sons, merely putting on a facade to encourage them and their loyalty. The Ten Thousand were among the few who were made knowledgeable on the fact, for if the rest of the Imperium were to learn, several of it's greatest assets would be demoralized beyond hope, transhuman demigods as they were.

Guilliman never had that problem. Or at least Kronos never thought he would. But unreturned trust from a figure that in some begrudging way he did in fact admire seemed to have caught him now regardless. The state of the Imperium around him had likely not helped in that regard.

"What reason would he have to retain the truth from us, all those years ago? A lie that swerved our dreams to damnation, that made our brothers and sons spit on the vows they'd made to our empire?" Guilliman continued, his face remaining vaguely the same, though his voice was telling of his conflict.

Kronos considered his query. His all too justifiable query. Something that a Primarch would all but be certain to ask, especially in such a situation.

"I do not know," he answered truthfully. He had his guesses of course. But that was all they were. He was never personally confided in, for he was never one among the best of his brethren, worthy of their sire's full interest and trust. "I cannot gaze into the mind of the Emperor. Forgive my wording, for I know you must be as sick of hearing it as I am, but I think it would be downright heretical to consider as such. I cannot give you your vindication Primarch. I can only offer you my help."

Guilliman gave him a once-over again, though seemed hesitant, or perhaps more accurately conflicted, in what to say next.

"You do not trust me. That I understand. However, for what is to come, we have to aid each-other. The galaxy breaks in two, the fight goes on. War rages as always, and I think we can find common ground in that if nothing else."

"Fight a war, as always?" he said, his emotions finally bleeding through his mask of assuredness, a sullen look spoiling his patrician features. "And for what, pray tell?"

The Primarch turned away from the Custodian, to gaze upon a crack in the ceiling of the chamber. Night had fallen by then, and through the gap, a miasma of wretched colors unnatural to the human eye, to any eye, stained the stars like the spilled corpse blood of a fallen god.

"Everything we already fought for. Every drop of blood spilled, every bone broken and limb snapped, every heart gouged and head cut...All the sacrifice, for **nothing**. An empire of ignorance, tyranny and fear where there should be reason and enlightenment. This is our legacy," Guilliman said, his head slanting forward. "Why do we still fight? How do we even still fight?"

"We fight because there is nothing else. We fight to preserve what is left, and to scavenge what we can out of the ashes. We fight because that is what we were made to do," Kronos replied mechanically. In truth, he still doubted what he said himself. The responsibility placed upon him, the wars he had waged and the ones yet to come, they still were not enough to bleach the desperation out of his mind. But ever onwards he would have to stride while he still had hope.

"The Imperium needs a savior, Guilliman. Mankind faces it's greatest crisis since the fall of the Dark Age and the beginning of Old Night. They need an idol. A leader. They need you."

A deathly silence settled around them then, neither man moving a muscle. In one of the rare occasions in his life, Kronos found himself completely at a loss at what the other was thinking. But with a resolute sigh from the Primarch, his doubts receded somewhat.

"And you are to be my chaperone during all this, then?" he asked, tone neutral.

"I do not know, in all honesty. My purpose is as always to serve my sire. What that fully entails in this new era, I cannot tell even now. But given that I was led here, right before your resurrection...Yes, I suppose you too are part of my duty Primarch. But beyond all, I am to return to Terra. Of that much I am certain."

Guilliman paused, nodded, then extended his arm, the one not gauntleted in the mighty Hand of Dominion.

"Then it appears we have an agreement of sorts. Of course," he said, sighing. "There will be time to explain yourself fully. But our priorities are set, now. We march on a path neither of us can predict."

Kronos rocked his hand firmly.

"Then I am glad to walk it alongside you, Primarch."

* * *

She had heard the stories of course. All children who had not been raised on complete backwaters, and even many who had, had heard them. Stories that they were required to echo well into their senility, for they were the sources from where all other stories they knew sprung from.

The tales of the Great Crusade, a period of obscurity yet of so much glory for their race, establishing the modern empire they all lived in. Great demigods of the Emperor's own design sailed the stars, their commands utterly absolute to millions of souls responsible for reclaiming the birthright of man. Legions of transhuman warriors so vast they blotted out the suns of the worlds they liberated. And most of all, the Master of Mankind Himself fighting alongside his Ten Thousand in the salvation of the galaxy.

There was one thing to believe in a tale ten millennia past however, and another altogether to witness such a visage for one's self.

Hundreds of Marines, most bearing the Ultima, some descendants of the Primarch, and others still of completely different bloodlines, all yet united in a show of force and cooperation, earned in blood and iron they had all spilled to save Macragge.

At the very center of the procession, figures which appeared downright mythological from afar conversed with each-other. Belisarius Cawl, Dominatus Dominus, Master of Masters, and one half of the equation responsible for the resurrection of the living avatar of the God-Emperor's wrath now among them, stood as the largest by far. His sheer augmented bulk made him easily the largest thing in the Temple of Correction, sans the Dreadnoughts standing at attention at the very back end of the room.

But he was far from the only figure of note: Saint Celestine, her angelic aura somehow shining through the hallowed darkness possessed by the room now, seemingly conversed with the Custodian. It was strange seeing the Saint in the flesh like this. She gave off an air of kindness and calm that contrasted hard with anyone who knew her history, the desperate and terrifying battles she had been apart of. Such was the gift of the Emperor's touch.

Her conversation partner couldn't be further from her, a figure of militant and physical might, with a face not necessarily stern but still obviously jaded, dwarfing her much like he did everything else, though the saint herself was not short by any means. What the very representation of God-Emperor's faithful and a Golden Legionary so utterly disgusted by the concept of worship itself could talk about was anyone's guess.

Rounding out the roster were two less fantastical, yet no less important figures. Katarinya Greyfax and the leader of the Ynnari, Yvraine. The first, a Puritan Inquisitor of the Ordo Hereticus, an absolutely cold and callous woman that had been the end of many of her own peers, not much was needed to be said of a mere mortal that could still stand out among the assembled.

The Eldar on the other hand, was a sore sight for any Imperial present there, truly the only thing actively harming the facade of the assembly, though for her role in the revival of the Primarch, she was begrudgingly accepted. Her peers lurked around the shadows, intending to let her harbor the spotlight for fear of more conflict arising from their presence. Even up there, her differences were obvious. She stuck out as much as the Archmagos Dominus did.

But of course, something or rather someone was yet missing from the grand convention, the very reason they were there, and likely the very reason they were still all alive. And with thunderous steps that silenced the murmurs flying around the cavernous chamber, he made himself known at last.

Roboute Guilliman, the Avenging Son, the Blade of Unity, the Master of Ultramar, strode forwards, flanked by his Honor Guard. His face betrayed nothing of his mood, as per usual, he possessed the same calculating, neutral expression as he always did.

Yet if Inquisitor Catherine had been observing the rest of the proceedings intently, she was not practically staring bug-eyed as the Primarch made his way through the room to his rightful throne. The effect of merely looking at him was like drinking the most intoxicating liquid in the world, dulling the senses to all else around.

The Astartes around, when she could still focus on them, seemed immune, which was to be expected. The few baseline humans among the gathered however, suffered much the same. Some she even saw collapse before her vision was entirely overcome by blue-colored ceramite, and an inhumanly beautiful face.

The occasions in her life when she had cried because of an overwhelming surge of emotions could barely be counted on both hands, with most of those being in her long-past youth. But now, against all odds, she did feel her eyes water, and soon her cheeks were shimmering with telltale wetness as well.

The Primarch of course, continued unperturbed, entirely ignorant of those around him, his eyes focused with an unknowable fire towards the massive throne. One by one, his Honor Guard slipped into the crowd, content with watching their liege from afar. They were not to be in the dais that would follow this historic moment.

There were no grandiose speeches. No proclamations from the others gathered around the throne. Aside from Guilliman's footsteps, no other sound pervaded throughout the Temple of Correction. It was as if an invisible force had coiled itself around the bodies of every individual within, buffering any noise from escaping them.

Whether it was all a fabrication of her skewed perception or not, she would never find out.

The Primarch at last, took his seat at the very center, surrounded by his peers, the grand monument of Imperial and Ultramarine might beginning to shine brightly behind him. The Custodian and the Saint, both approached him, and with a single move, raised an absolutely gargantuan Iron Halo above his head. Celestine's hands didn't even seem to touch the artifact, yet it was balanced on both sides.

At that point, Greyfax rolled out a great trail of parchment and did read something. In truth however, Catherine was not listening. She could barely keep track of the movements of her lips, something which would normally allow her to understand exactly what was being said. Her eyes were just drinking up the central sight before her, and they were not going to be sated.

Greyfax finished faster than what the sheer length of the document entailed, and immediately afterward the Custodian and the Saint, two dual symbols of His will made manifest, slowly lowered the Halo onto the Armor of Fate. Anchoring itself into the power armor, the artifact briefly flickered with energy as it's systems were connected with those of the ornate suit.

Guilliman's face was unreadable during the process, a shadow cast over it as it had slanted slightly forwards. Those in the front rows could probably have managed to glimpse his expression, but beyond that, the whole room remained expectant.

That expectation was answered however, when the Primarch raised his head, positioning his body into a more regal posture as the docking procedure of the Iron Halo was complete, and gazed upon the room with calm, yet resolute eyes. Each man, woman and Astartes on that day found their soul drilled by those ice blue embers, as if the Avenging Son was judging each of them individually.

With that, the Marines were the ones to break the spell first, raising their voices as the ceremony drew to a close. Then as time drew on, the humans present among them too started yelling their loyalties to the reborn Master of Ultramar. In a moment that would be forever burned into the memories of all there, and immortalized in painted dais that would travel the length of the Imperium, the Primarch stood dauntless and unyielding, his visage a prophecy of the unbreaking spirit that would be unleashed.

And at that very moment, Catherine found her voice being raised to levels she'd never reached before, as an overwhelming feeling engulfed her: hope.

* * *

**Author's notes: **I want to apologize for the delay in comparison to the other chapters for a suboptimal length. However, I was facing a severe writer's block with trying to go through the main meat of this thing and I'm just going to cut it off here to avoid driving myself to insanity.

I don't really have much to say this time except I just wanted this chapter outta my face and now it's done and I hope is good. That's all for now. See y'all later.


End file.
